Annie's Soldier
by Black Hawk
Summary: And then it hits Annie that she was sent into the heart of the Great War and that Mitchell is about to stumble upon Herrick.
1. Guardian Angel

_**I tried to make this short. I really did. Instead, I accidentally wrote a novel. Enjoy!**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**1. Guardian Angel**

Annie is in the woods and the mist swirling around the tree trunks reminds her of an enchanted forest. A bird starts chirping overhead, its song echoing in the grove, and she smiles, her brow slightly furrowed because she can't remember how she got here or why. There was something about carrying Eve through a white door and George's grateful smile then…

Then the ground beneath her shakes and the air cracks, making her squawk, covering her head. The boom is followed by another and the birds cry out in alarm. Silence settles and she slowly straightens, eyes wide.

She flinches as a repetitive popping erupts in the distance. Machine gun fire.

_How… where?_

Men shout and scream and the gunfire grows more intense, followed by another boom. Mortar.

Battle.

Heavy footsteps thud on the dead leaves and she stiffens. There is nowhere to hide for all the trunks are young and thin. Three men weave into the grove, their olive uniforms splattered with mud, their rifles at the ready.

Annie is standing right in front of them yet not a one has noticed her.

_Still dead_, she thinks.

The tall one in the center holds up a fist, stopping the others. They look to him for his command and at a nod, fix bayonets. Even at a distance, she can see that the one who finishes first is a blonde with crystal blue eyes and has a perpetual impish curl to his lips.

Bayonets fixed, the three exchange hand signals then split up. The sounds of battle continue in the distance and she wonders if these men intend to circle around behind the enemy. Speaking of, who was the enemy?

As the soldiers disperse, she steps closer to one in the center to examine his uniform, but history was never her strong suit. And she can't very well ask him which war this is. He is busy readying ammunition, his head bowed, and as she approaches, she notices just how much his hands are shaking now that he's alone.

He fumbles, dropping a handful of cartridges. "Shite."

Cold water bursts from her chest and trickles through her hope. "Mitchell?"

He snatches up the bullets and wipes them off on his pant leg, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in an attempt to steel himself.

"Mitchell, it's me. Annie." She smiles as she moves directly before him, but her expression fades when he doesn't react.

_Still a ghost_.

The woods to the east erupt with an explosion, blasting dirt and leaves in the sulfur-saturated air as a shell lands close by. Mitchell grunts and shoves the bullets into his pocket before adjusting his helmet and hunkering down, creeping forward.

And then it hits Annie that she was sent into the heart of the Great War and that Mitchell is about to stumble upon Herrick.

"Oh God," she gasps, then dashes in front of the young man. "No, no, stop. Mitchell, listen to me. You _have_ to stop."

The soldier ignores her, swallowing hard and ducking past a pine bough as he makes his way through the grove.

Annie grabs his shoulder then shoves at him but his human body feels like a rock and her arms like wisps of smoke. No matter how she tries to summon her corporeality to stop him, he doesn't even blink. After several minutes, the sounds of battle are muffled by a hill and a voice drifts to them on the wind. It's barely discernible from a bird and Annie isn't even sure she has heard it, but Mitchell has frozen, his body tense like a hunted wolf's.

_Soldier's ears_, she thinks.

Mitchell's eyes are wide as he scans the green.

Taking a deep breath, Annie tells him to wait there then pushes ahead, hunting out the voices. It takes longer than she thought, but she comes upon a clearing wreathed in mist. In the center, the unmistakable form of Herrick argues with another as they hold a wounded soldier at their mercy. She ducks behind a tree to hide. It's one of the men Mitchell just split from.

"You can whine all you like," Herrick says to his fellow. "But I get the first drink."

The soldier's skin is ashen and his side is a red blossom. He weakly tries to drag himself away but it's no use. Herrick grabs him by the collar and drags his body over, looks him in the eye, then hisses as his fangs protrude and his eyes turns black.

The wounded soldier doesn't even have the chance to scream before he is being fed upon. Annie brings her hands up to shield her eyes but stops just short of her lashes.

The other vampire, who she now recognizes as Seth, fidgets and watches with hungry, blackened eyes that dart up at the cracking of a stick. "What was that?"

"Mitchell," Annie breathes, and her ghost body is suddenly full of buzzing.

Seth readies his rifle.

Annie gasps then pops to Mitchell's side without even realizing it. She stares up at him in shock for a heartbeat, and then realizes that he's only yards from the clearing.

"Stop," she shouts.

But of course, he can't hear her. And with every step he takes, the air in Annie grows colder and colder. Is this her punishment? Was she sent here to watch the keeper of her heart be bitten as some sort of reminder of her uselessness? What had she done to merit her own hell?

_You failed him_, a voice whispers in her head. _That's what you did_.

Mitchell wipes at a bead of sweat escaping from under his hood, his wiry frame tense as he nears the clearing.

The tears on Annie's cheeks are coating her ghostly skin with frost. "I couldn't save you, my love," she whispers brokenly. "No matter how much you wanted me to. I let you wither away. I let you die."

He pauses, crouching low as the mist obscures his view through the trees, furrowing his brow. Despite the fear and sleeplessness that clings to him, despite how ageless he looked as a vampire, he is infinitely younger now. True youth: innocence. And Annie can only shake her head and bite her lip as it is about to be ripped from him.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, then collapses against him in a hug she knows he can't feel.

He starts to straighten to continue as the mist clears, but he hesitates, as if he has heard something in the distance.

Annie searches his face, clinging to the front of his uniform, cursing the heavens and all of creation that he can't see her. Leaning in to his ear as he adjusts the grip on his rifle, she whispers. "Turn around, my love. Turn around." Mitchell furrows his brow.

She presses her lips to his cheek, and to her surprise, he sucks in a lungful of air and falls onto the seat of his pants. Annie stands above him, too afraid to hope, as his wide eyes frantically scan the trees, looking for someone.

Annie glows with sunlight inside. He felt her.

Herrick's voice drifts to them and Mitchell rises. She wills with all of her being for him to not fall for the trap of an English voice and approach. But even as a clear sentence and a laugh are heard, Mitchell takes a step backwards. Then another.

Annie grins, nodding, sending a gentle breeze his way.

The leaves rattle around him and it's all the excuse he needs to break into a jog and leave this place behind.

Annie is left alone on the edge of the clearing. She tilts her head upwards, letting her tears fall amidst the distant gunfire. "Thank you," she whispers, though she isn't sure just who or what she is thanking.

"What do you mean you saw someone?" Herrick's voice asks.

Annie pushes past the fronds and narrows her gaze as she catches sight of the man, his chin bloodied. The now-dead soldier lies at his feet.

"May have been a Hun," Seth says, suddenly submissive.

"Still," Herrick replies, dragging the back of his sleeve across his chin. "Better safe than sorry."

With a nod, the two break into a run, heading for the grove.

"No…" Annie breathes. "No!"

Her body buzzes again, like a hive is in her chest, then she pops to Mitchell's side. He has slowed to a walk and is heading back the way he came, looking ridiculously unperturbed.

"Mitchell," Annie screeches. "Mitchell, you have to run. They're after you. It's Herrick, Mitchell. _Herrick_!"

His only response is to lift his chin a little higher and hum softly, as if he isn't even aware that he is doing it.

Annie is about ready to snog him to try to get his attention again when leaves are kicked up in the distance. The humming stops as his entire demeanor shifts as he readies his rifle, looking behind him. Annie can just glimpse either Herrick or Seth through the trees, and when she spins around to see if Mitchell has seen them, he is gone.

Furrowing her brow, she glances around then a piece of bark falls through her. Looking up, she spots the young man scrambling up an old pine as silently as he can.

Annie smirks. "Clever boy."

Hoisting her ghost body into the branches after him is an easy task, and the two are nestled against the trunk twenty feet up by the time the vampires are in view.

Mitchell presses his cheek against the trunk, biting his lip to keep quiet as the two men pause beneath him, hunting for any sign as to where he went.

"I can smell him," Herrick hisses, and any worry that Mitchell would be tricked by their language and uniform vanishes when she sees the troubled look on his face. He doesn't have to have a ghost at his side to recognize a predator.

"Then he can't be far," Seth says. "But this time, I want a taste."

"No, this one's mine," Herrick says. He takes a deep whiff. "I can taste his decency. He will be far more fun to corrupt."

The other vampire grunts noncommittally and Mitchell closes his eyes hunches his shoulders, as if trying to make himself smaller. Annie's heart breaks and swells at the same time at the sight and she rests a hand on his shoulder.

Herrick hisses in frustration then leads his companion in another direction, tracking the original route Mitchell had taken to this spot.

The young soldier doesn't open his eyes until the noises of the other two have long since faded. Then he lets out a gasp, as if he's been holding his breath, and he sags against the trunk in relief. Annie rubs his shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief as well.

Later that night, Mitchell and the rest of his unit are huddled together under a leaky, makeshift roof, sharing blankets as it rains. Rats scamper past, and though Annie is startled by the rodents, the soldiers don't react. Not even when one starts inspecting someone's booted foot as if it were a morsel of food.

"Do you believe in God?" Mitchell asks, his voice breaking the silence.

The young man whose shoulder is pressed against his raises his brows. He is called Felix, though given his Irish lilt, Annie suspects it's a nickname. She recognizes him from earlier in the day, for his impish expression is unmistakable. They are the two survivors of a failed reconnaissance.

"I suppose," Felix says. "Why? Don't you?"

Mitchell shrugs, his gaze distant. His cropped curls are unruly and his face is still splattered with mud. His accent is thicker than it ever was in England, and at times makes it clear that English isn't his first language. The difference makes it easier for Annie to see the man before her as someone separate from the man she knew.

"Maybe not God, exactly. At least, not how they talk about him in church."

Felix nods. "Yeah… hard to believe he'd turn a blind eye to this hellhole."

"'Cause there is no God," another soldier offers from the opposite side of the hovel before taking a drag of a cigarette. "Not for us."

Mitchell glances at him but instead of turning broody, his expression becomes wistful. "But what about… guardian angels?"

The other men are quiet and Annie smiles. That resilience, that hopefulness in his voice and eyes is her Mitchell.

"My mam says I toppled over on the hearth once," Felix says. "By all accounts I should've fallen straight in and been burnt. But somehow I wasn't. I was only two or so, so I don't remember. But she always says it was my gran." He's quiet for a moment then shrugs. "Suppose it could be true."

Mitchell nods, his gaze distant again, his eyes almost dreamy. _Yes_, Annie wants to whisper. But everything else she wants to say is so knotted up by the sweet look on his face that she can't even form a thought. For she feels that it has been a very long time since she has seen him and his presence is soothing her soul.

"Why?" the blonde-haired lad beside him asks, and from his accent, he sounds like he's from one of the northern counties of Ireland.

"It's just that…" Mitchell hesitates and bites his lower lip before looking to his friend. "I thought I felt something today."

Felix furrows his brow. "Like what?"

"Like…" His cheeks flush and he doesn't finish, which makes Annie blush in turn. "Anyway, I just had the strongest feeling not to be somewhere, and then afterwards, there were these strange men, talking like cannibals, and… I just can't help but feel that I was, somehow, spared."

Annie smirks.

"Hm," Felix grunts. "Maybe it was your gran, too."

The fact that both are too tired to comment on the mention of cannibalism tells Annie that they've already seen enough war to not question the darkness of men's souls.

"Maybe." Mitchell's eyes are distant, and Annie wonders if he's trying to hold on to the sensation of her kiss.

She still doesn't remember how or why this has happened, but she now knows beyond a doubt that she is here to be his guardian angel.

* * *

_**What did you think?  
Feel free to picture Felix as Dean O'Gorman. Thanks to The Hobbit, I can't separate him from Aidan Turner in my imagination!**_


	2. Letters

**Annie's Soldier**

**2. Letters**

Annie wanders No Man's Land in the dawn light while Mitchell sleeps. His unit arrived back at the trench hours before, exhausted and freezing. The mud she treads is pitted with puddles of rainwater and mud, brain mash and shredded limbs. Bodies are scattered about, pale and contorted in the light of the rising sun.

She pauses beside one whose face is upwards, though his teeth have fallen out of the hole in the side of his cheek and rest beside him like funerary blossoms. In his hand is a letter, as if he pulled it out to read as he lay dying. The unmarked side of his face is youthful, and he has a scar on his temple. Probably from a childhood accident.

He is someone's son, and was once held in a mother's arms and welcomed as a precious gift. He laughed and loved and pouted and wept, for he was alive. A life. And now he is in pieces on a scar of land even his best friends don't dare to cross to retrieve his body. Now he is a whisper in an ocean of souls.

Annie closes her eyes, her throat tight. She could do nothing to help this young man now, but she could keep Mitchell from sharing his fate. The thought of his beauty torn to shreds on the battlefield is enough to make her buzz and pop back to his side.

He lies on a cot in a bunker, sound asleep. Felix is in a cot on the other side of the hovel, for he shares command of their dwindling group with Mitchell. The young men are allowed another few minute's sleep before being roused by a round of artillery going off further down the trench. Annie glares at the sound, for it seems to take every ounce of will the two possess to drag their tired frames out from under warm blankets.

Breakfast is hard tack and gruel, but there are no complaints. Maggots are taken as extra protein and popped into mouths without a second thought. A soldier with dark rings under his eyes takes a shot at a rat and is scolded.

Annie feels ridiculously out of place, for her ghost body is from the well-fed future where she reaped the rewards of these sacrifices. She stays close to Mitchell's side, and as the day progresses, begins to feel less out of place. There are supply orders to discuss with the Quartermaster, artillery to be moved, horses to be dodged, faces to be shaved. Mitchell's rank as Lieutenant is high enough to delegate a few tasks but low enough to be a grunt.

Then again, she can't spot a soldier in the trench who isn't a grunt.

* * *

Felix and Mitchell receive letters from home and delicately unfold the papers, smoothing them on their knees before reading, treating them as carefully as infants. Annie reads over Mitchell's shoulder and does a double-take when she realizes it's a letter from a sweetheart.

"Who the hell is _Molly_?" she asks.

Mitchell smiles when he finishes reading, then goes back and reads it again, though Annie doesn't know what's so interesting about the peas growing in the garden and the latest picture at the cinemas. He is interrupted halfway through by Felix. "Christ," the blonde moans, rubbing his face.

"Bad news?"

"My little brother Danny. He was called in for questioning. Again."

Mitchell furrows his brow. "I thought they were done with all that."

"They seem to bring it up anew every few months." Felix gazes out at the trench with a distant stare before sighing. "We'll never be done with it. Not until we're free."

Mitchell groans. "Not this again, Felix. Isn't it enough that we're –"

"What?" he asks. "Fighting a war we've no stake in? Dying in droves for a king and country we –"

Mitchell motions for him to be silent then jerks his head towards passerby outside. Annie glances out to make sure the coast is clear. She dosn't have to be the best history student to know that they're talking about sedition.

Felix sighs and carefully folds his letter back up. "What's Molly got to say?"

The dark-haired man smiles bashfully and hands over his letter. "See for yourself."

Felix skims the contents and smirks before he reads aloud. _"I had a dream of you last night. We were… writhing in each other's arms_?"

Mitchell snatches the letter back, going red. "Where does it say that?"

Felix laughs so hard that he falls off his overturned crate.

"You _want_ it to say that?" Annie asks, even though a part of her feels silly for her jealousy, for he has no idea that she exists.

Later, when Mitchell is asleep, Annie decides to go through his things. She opens Felix's trunk first, on accident, which she realizes as soon as she sees his paper clippings about the Easter Rising in Dublin the previous year, and the rumblings of revolution. Quietly closing the lid, she turns to Mitchell's.

Biting her lip, she watches the rise and fall of his chest for a few minutes before reasoning that she ought to know everything about him if she is to be his guardian angel.

She finds all his letters from home in a bundled stack wrapped carefully in an oilcloth. Only a handful of the letters are from his parents, and their spelling is rather horrid, which makes her wonder just how impoverished they are. Most are from this Molly person, and one even contains a small picture of a rather plain-faced, dark-haired girl with big eyes.

"She's not all that pretty," Annie scoffs then tucks the photo back into the letter and continues reading.

She spends the night piecing together what Mitchell has said to this girl from Molly's responses, and gathers that, unlike her storybook suspicions, they aren't childhood sweethearts. They met at a dance in Cork during his leave a year or so ago and have been writing ever since. Annie's jealousy melts away, however, as the truth behind Molly's words worms into her heart.

Mitchell had wanted to see her during his last leave, but the girl was apparently too "busy." She filled her letters with details of the mundane, for Mitchell loved to hear of the simple tasks of home life, but her endearments weren't very endearing, and Annie wonders if she didn't get them all from some soppy novel. There is nothing personalized about the way she expresses her affection for him. Nothing that makes her, or them, unique.

Annie wonders if this was how people shared in 1917 where propriety was so much more important, or if Molly is just a silly little girl playing a silly little game with a soldier. Annie's soldier.

Narrowing her eyes, Annie returns the letters to Mitchell's trunk.

Being a ghost had its benefits, and one of them was the fact that without needing to eat or drink or relieve herself, without muscles that needed to be worked or aches that needed to be stretched, Annie was always physically comfortable. So long as she was at Mitchell's side, she was never bored, even when he slept.

She used to have worries and fears and stress from others, but now it is only him, and she thinks it's a rather nice break.

Until the guns start firing and Mitchell is ordered to go over the top.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	3. Over the Top

**Thank you so much for the fantastic response! This is essentially a piece of historical fiction and as such, I was worried about the reception it would have, so thank you kindly for all of the lovely reviews. I write for YOU!**

**Annie's Soldier**

**3. Over The Top**

The whistle is blown and the men scramble to climb the ladders, only to be met with a barrage of machinegun fire and mortar as they charge across No Man's Land. Annie climbs up the ladder behind Mitchell, cursing all the while at the assault on her senses, but then another soldier climbs up right through her and she squawks and stumbles.

Her moment of distraction costs her, for now she has lost sight of Mitchell in the crashing wave of men heading for the barbed wire defenses.

"Mitchell!"

A shell explodes a few yards away, catapulting dirt and mud into the air, making Annie duck even though she has no body to protect. Smoke swirls on the battlefield, and between the haze and clods erupting all around her, the soldiers look like wraiths. They are cut down, sometimes with quiet stumbles, other times with gagging screams, and Annie covers her mouth as her spirit is tugged this way and that with dozens of stinging cuts as men die all around her.

The scale of the suffering is too much, and when she feels bullets sting through her form, she loses control and runs with the men, her voice hysterical as she screams Mitchell's name.

The ghosts of the departed rise up with keening wails as they look down at their mangled corpses. Annie pauses before a middle-aged man who had been the one issue the order to go over the top. He is staring at his body in shock. Annie doesn't even realize she's crying until she tries to speak.

"It's ok," she says. "You're safe now."

If he hears her, he doesn't react, and Annie furrows her brow when no door appears. Soon the dead soldiers are congregating around him, moaning and limping and pulling at their hair, and Annie doesn't know if they can't see her because she is from another time, or if she is different now that she has been sent back.

Their keening wails rise up and it's all she can hear. She covers her ears and dashes across the battlefield, only to trip on a severed leg. Scrambling to get away from the body part, she ducks as artillery whizzes overhead then spots a body several feet away. A body with the same build as Mitchell.

"Oh, God."

Annie crawls over to the corpse, muttering "No, no, no," as she goes. She can't fail. She can't let her love join the ranks of the keening, soul-torn dead. "Please, no."

She rolls the man's body over and is relieved to see the distinctive coloring of a ginger.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, guilt overriding her grief as she gives in to her tears. "I'm so sorry. God, Mitchell, where are you?"

She sits on her knees in the mud, trying to spot him amidst the smoke and tears, when a shell explodes not two feet from her. The shrapnel that slices through her and embeds itself in the bodies of the men around her causes a chorus of screams, which makes Annie scream, for this is all mad. Utterly mad. And how could men do this to one another?

Then she hears it. Mitchell's voice.

"Felix!" he screams, and Annie snaps back into herself, hastily looking towards the sound. She spots a soldier scrambling to another's side and dashes over. She's so relieved to have found Mitchell and to see that he's unharmed that she latches onto his back in a hug, sobbing against his filthy uniform.

"Felix," he says again, his voice cracking with panic, and Annie lets go to peer down at the other boy who is gasping and shaking in the mud, a chunk of metal embedded in his thigh.

"Just go," the blonde gasps, gritting his teeth. "Go!"

Mitchell's eyes lock with his blue in determination before grabbing the smaller man by the shoulders and dragging him back towards the trench. Felix cries out as his leg is jarred, but Mitchell only mutters an apology and keeps going, gaining speed.

Annie casts wide eyes about them, watching another shell explode several yards away. The mass of the men have made it beyond the barbed wire and screams are echoing from the German trench as some of the British make it through. Yet still, the terrible firing of the machine guns doesn't cease, and bullets hit the mud just feet from them.

"_Move_," Annie hisses. "Move, move, move!"

She tries to grab onto Felix's arm to help Mitchell but it's no use and the trench is still so far off. She's about to scream in frustration when her entire body goes cold and tingly, and it's as if time slows as she is compelled to look over her shoulder.

There, far in the distant German trench, she can hear a machinegun man hissing as he burns his hand on the weapon while finishing loading it. He jerks the barrel towards their side of the field, and despite being hundreds of yards away, Annie can see the whites of his eyes as he takes aim.

Her entire being screams at her that Mitchell is about to be killed.

Instinct takes over, and rather than shout or shove or try to kiss him again, Annie leaps into his body and fills him with her screaming soul, commanding him to duck.

Without hesitating, Mitchell drops to the ground, sheltering Felix's head with his torso just as a rain of molten-hot bullets erupt in the air around them. One pings off the side of his helmet while the others slice past where he had just been, and Annie doesn't climb out of him until the tingling stops and she knows the gun has been pointed elsewhere.

"I can't breathe," Felix grunts, and Mitchell slides off of him with a crooked smile.

"You lucky bastard."

Annie gasps for air she doesn't need as she takes her place beside the two, surveying the battlefield with crackling senses. She doesn't know how long it takes for Mitchell to drag Felix back and over the lip of the trench, but she knows she is on fire the entire time and nearly dares any German to point a rifle her way.

* * *

Mitchell drags his feet through the mud, his breath clouding the night air before him. Annie is at his side. The silence after the battle has left a ringing in her ears and she wonders how Mitchell heard Herrick in the woods at all, for he must be half-deaf from the guns and explosions.

They pass by a man growling as he itches his head like a dog, and she curls her upper lip, for she can actually see the lice clinging to his cropped hair.

Her soldier ducks into a dugout Dressing Station, and after scanning the patients, makes a beeline to Felix's side. The blonde's leg is heavily bandaged and he's all-but disappearing in his cot. Annie watches Mitchell with sad eyes as he removes his helmet and eases his rifle off his shoulder.

"Felix?" he quietly calls.

To both of their surprise, the blonde cracks an eye open then groans. "_You_."

Mitchell grins and grabs his hand. "Who were you expecting? Jesus Christ?"

Felix raises his brows. "It would fit how I feel." Mitchell's smile fades and Felix answers his questioning look. "Ran out of morphine. They had to pull the damn thing out while I was wide awake and bawling like a bairn."

"That's terrible."

Felix casts his exhausted eyes to his leg. "I don't want to lose it."

Mitchell follows his gaze and a silence falls between them that is only punctured by another patient's cough. "They're sending you back, then, aren't they?" Mitchell asks.

Felix nods. "Casualty Clearing Station a few miles behind."

The dark-haired lad forces a smile. "Well… the ladies love their wounded soldiers."

It's a rather pathetic joke but it still makes Felix laugh, even if his laugh morphs into a cough. He squeezes his eyes shut and breaks out in a clammy sweat, and Annie wonders if she could wander into the German camp and steal him some morphine, though she doubts they have any, either.

The pitter patter of rain starts outside and Mitchell stays by his friend's side until he is sure the other is sound asleep. When he readies to leave, he watches Felix's face for several minutes, as if memorizing his features, and Annie realizes that he doesn't expect to ever see him again.

By the time they head back outside, the trench is nothing more than a glorified trough of mud. The men they pass are groaning because the latrines are seeping into the puddles amongst their boots. Mitchell takes off his sodden jacket and hangs it up from a peg in his dugout.

Annie can't stand to see how pale and thin he is, and as he stands there biting his knuckle and shaking while he stares at Felix's things, her own eyes mist over for she has no means to comfort him.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	4. Sedition

**Annie's Soldier**

**4. Sedition**

A machine gun fires off a few spurts the next morning, making Mitchell and Annie tense. A few seconds later and the cry for a medic is heard through the trench. Relaxing, Mitchell goes back to dressing, muttering "Poor sod" under his breath. He itches feverishly and she worries he has lice.

Later, during breakfast, the soldiers chat about the lad who was just killed. No one says it, but they all know it was a suicide. The darkness in their eyes tells Annie that they have all thought about it, even Mitchell. All he'd have to do is poke his head up over the top of the trench and…

He writes a letter to Molly and Annie marvels at his neat handwriting that she never got to see when he was over a hundred. She expects him to write about the battle. About Felix's injury. About how much he misses home. Instead, his words are brief and calm, as if the war is nothing more than a hard time at camp away from Ireland.

Annie fixes him with a screwy look when he sighs and folds the paper up to mail. "Whatever it is that's going on between you two, you'll never… she'll never…" The words to describe all she'd seen in the past few days escape her, and she comes to the conclusion that there just are none in the English language that could ever convey such an abomination as war.

After that. she doesn't blame Mitchell for not saying a word.

Mitchell rummages through Felix's trunk, latching onto a stack of letters tied with a girl's hair ribbon then heads out to the Dressing Station in such a hurry that he doesn't even bother to shut the trunk.

Once in the dugout, they receive the shock of Felix's empty cot.

Mitchell closes his eyes. "Dear God, no…" He crosses himself before sinking onto the cot, his entire face so scrunched up that Annie worries he'll explode.

"Sir?" An orderly asks and Mitchell snaps his eyes open. "We need the bed, sir. We're moving new casualties in."

"Of course, my apologies," Mitchell says as he rises. He takes a step away then looks over his shoulder. "What about the man who was in this bed? Fergus O'Flaherty?"

The orderly looks at the clipboard in his hand then back to Mitchell. "About to be loaded up, I imagine. Down at a bearer post."

Mitchell's entire being splits in a grin and Annie claps then chases him as he dashes out. He winds through a ridiculously narrows stretch of evacuation trench until he is a fair distance from the front lines. Climbing out, he finds a horse-drawn ambulance being loaded with wounded. Felix is on a stretcher outside, pale and perspiring, but alive.

"You son of a bitch," Mitchell barks as he approaches. "I thought you were dead."

Felix furrows his brow. "Why?"

"Your cot was empty."

"It's always empty given that you refuse to cuddle."

Mitchell laughs then steps aside as the bearers arrive to load Felix in the ambulance. "Wait," Felix protests. "There's a letter –"

Mitchell nods with a small smile before handing him the stack. Felix smirks. "You're a doll, you know that?"

The stretcher-bearers pick Felix up and load him onto the ambulance with the rest of the bandaged wounded. Annie holds Mitchell's hand as he watches the horses lead the ambulance away, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his friend inside, and Annie knows he's both upset and relieved that he didn't get to say goodbye.

The walk back to his bunk in the rain is slow, and though her soldier is cold and wet, she now understands that the mud and moisture are nothing compared to the terror of a whistle and the order to go over the top. She's thankful that she can't sleep, for she's sure that she would have nightmares.

Mitchell itches behind his ear with a grimace. His steps are heavy and his shoulders are hunched as he starts to roll a cigarette, only to have it melt away in the rain. He casts it a betrayed look before continuing.

"Bad habit, anyway," Annie says. "You're probably adding years to your life."

Mitchell's spine stiffens when they approach his dugout and Annie crackles with anticipation as she senses his fear. He steps inside to find one of his men standing beside Felix's trunk, along with two commanding officers. Each is holding a newspaper clipping in his hand, and all three fix Mitchell with cold blue eyes.

"Lieutenant Mitchell?"

Mitchell hastily salutes the man addressing him when he notes his rank. "Yes, sir."

"Private Stevens here was just telling us how he came to deliver your post only to find your trunk open. I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for having such sensitive material in your possession."

Mitchell's eyes are wide and his jaw tense as he looks from the senior officers and the private to the clippings, rainwater dripping off his helmet.

"Well?" Annie asks. "Tell them."

The older man sighs at Mitchell's silence. "Lieutenant?"

"Just… news from home, Colonel Daniel. My cousin happened to be in one of the photographs of the rubble." Mitchell quirks a corner of his mouth. "His only claim to fame, really."

Annie's lips part in shock. "_What_? That's _Felix's_ stuff!"

Col. Daniel exchanges a long look with his companion before collecting the clippings. He holds them out to Mitchell who reluctantly steps inside and takes them. The colonel arches a brow. "I'll leave you to dispose of them, Lieutenant. Wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea now, would we?"

Mitchell nods curtly. "Yes, sir."

The two older men nod back then turn up the collars of their wool coats before stepping out into the rain. Private Stevens is staring at the ground and hesitantly looks up to Mitchell, who narrows his eyes.

"Will that be all, Private?"

The shorter man seems to come alive once he registers Mitchell's disdain. He sneers then slaps a letter against Mitchell's chest with a low "Mick," before shouldering past.

"_Excuse_ me?" Annie squawks after him.

"I'm you're commanding officer," Mitchell stutters out as he watches the stocky man leave, only to have a choice finger raised at him in return. "Christ," Mitchell mutters before pulling the letter away to read who it's from. But it has gotten wet from his sodden clothing and the ink is running. "Oh no, no, no."

"Mitchell, _what_ is going on?" Annie asks. "Why are you taking the heat for Felix? And… and what the hell is that little Private Prat's problem?"

He hastily hunts out a dry patch by his bed and sets the little envelope down. Shrugging off his rifle and helmet, he blows on the paper, trying to dry it, only to have water drip from his hair and damage it further. With a frustrated cry, Mitchell sweeps his hair back then starts frantically itching again until he falls onto the seat of his pants.

"Is it because he was sent home?" She kneels beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder and his itching slows. "You're afraid they'd imprison him… so you're taking the blame."

It ought to have been a question, but the sadness clinging to his frame over losing his friend has convinced her. She looks him over and shakes her head pitifully at his pathetic state.

"Come on, let's get these wet clothes off. You'll catch your death."

As if he heard her, he struggles out of his coat and hangs it up to dry, but it's little use, for his shirt is nearly just as soaked. None of it matters, though, for he heads back out into the rain to patrol a half hour later.

Annie spots Private Stevens casting him a glance while smoking with a handful of others, and they follow his gaze. After exchanging a few meaningful looks, they continue their conversation in low tones.

She narrows her eyes then looks to Mitchell, hoping to find him glaring back, but he doesn't seem to have noticed. In fact, he goes out of his way to stand to the side as the group passes by.

And that's when Annie realizes that this John Mitchell is not the man she knew. The man she knew didn't take kindly to intimidation. The man she knew would have called the junior officer out on his slip and asserted himself. But the man she knew also had a hundred years and probably even more kills under his belt.

Mitchell watches the other men once they're a safe distance away, and Annie sighs, for he looks even younger than them, and somewhat bewildered by their disrespect. Or worse, looks accepting, as if he believes he's lower than them despite his rank.

His inexperience and innocence had first been a welcome balm to the tatters of a man she had last seen, begging George to stake him. But now dread pools in her stomach when she thinks of how much he has to learn. Felix must've done most of the talking for the pair of them, but now he is alone and everyone knows it.

That night, a soldier neither of them recognize approaches him in the dinner line just after Mitchell gets a can of warm food from the back of the delivery truck. The larger man looks him in the eye before casually knocking the can out of his hands. It bursts open as it hits the ground, spilling its contents.

"Oops."

"Bastard," Annie barks.

Mitchell's lips part in surprise as he watches his meal scatter onto the floor. "Now why'd you go and –"

"It was an accident," the larger man says. "But don't worry. There's always room for another pot-licker."

Some men eating nearby chuckle and Mitchell lowers his brows.

"Now," Annie hisses. "Tell him what for."

"If you have a problem with me," he pauses, offering the other man a chance to reveal his name, which he doesn't take. "Then I suggest," Mitchell tries to continue, only to have the larger man step closer.

"I've no problem, Lieutenant. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm quite happy to have you fighting alongside me. Taking a bullet so I won't have to. Like the Rebel you are."

Mitchell clenches his jaw and Annie bites her nails. "I'm _not_ a Rebel."

"Oh? Then swear allegiance to king and country. Right now."

Mitchell's expression turns incredulous. "I don't have to prove anything to you," he says as he slips past.

"Yes! _Exactly_. Take that!" Annie cheers.

"So you won't swear then?" the larger man calls after him, as loud as he can. "To king and country?"

Mitchell seems to know as well as Annie does that he's trying to bait him, so he keeps walking and stalks out into the rain. Annie follows him and sticks her tongue out at the faces turned to watch him leave.

"Go back to your bog, Paddy!" someone shouts, earning laughter, and while Mitchell is now a distance away, she knows he hears it.

It's only when they're back in his quarters and Mitchell is kicking his trunk and chucking his helmet that Annie realizes he'll now have to skip a meal. He paces for a few moments then strips off his wet clothing until he's only in his undershirt. Sinking onto his cot, he takes a shuddering breath and his eyes glisten in the lamplight.

"Mitchell?" she quietly asks.

He sniffles then grabs the letter that came this afternoon and tries to read it but half the writing has been smeared beyond comprehension, despite his attempts to dry it. She sits down beside him and rubs his back, resting her chin on his shoulder, even if he can't feel her.

"It's been a shitty day, hasn't it?"

"It has," he says, then looks nearly as surprised as she does by his response and glances around, having startled himself.

"Can you hear me?" Annie asks with a grin, but her hope dims when his only response is to scrunch up his face and lean a palm against his temple. Sighing, Annie wraps her arms around him and kisses the top of his head.

He winds up falling asleep sitting up, his head resting against the support pole nearby. The letter slips from his fingers and Annie tries to see about sorting out the blurred words, even if it is from Molly. She bites her lip as she holds it in the lamplight, wondering if it would be too obvious to use a pen and go over the words she can make out. All she has is Mitchell's pencil, which would amount to clear tampering.

Still, she makes out what she can for herself, only to realize that the words she is deciphering from Molly are horrible.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_ _They have been so delightful to read!_**  
**And fear not... that is far from the last of Felix! Originally I was going to kill him, but when I started reading to my sister, Alex Took, and she cast him as Den O'Gorman, I didn't have the heart to let him blow up anymore... so thank the Fili to my Kili! ;)**


	5. Molly

_**It took me forever to figure out what to do with my tumblr, but I've realized I should use it to share fun stuff about/inspired by my fics! So feel free to come by and check it out - my blog is **_**blackhawkwriter**_** and is called **_**B****utterfly Frock**_**. Though I am tumblr illiterate and don't know if that will actually help anyone find me, LOL!**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**5. Molly**

Mitchell's mother Una weeps as she clings to him when he surprises his parents by coming home on leave. Malachy, his bearded father, drops the pail he was carrying and the milk spills all over the lane.

They are strangers to Annie but she finds her own cheeks wet at the sight of his mother's unbridled joy as she touches him all over and kisses his cheeks and forehead. Mitchell keeps laughing because Annie is sure he'd join in the tearfest if he doesn't while Una showers him in blessings in Irish. When his mother lets go of him, Annie clomps onto her in a hug she can't feel.

There isn't much food in the house, but Una still tries to stuff him. Annie inspects the thatched roof and plaster walls and wonders at how much simpler life was before concrete and busy streets. She hasn't seen a private car since they left the train station in town.

The fire crackles in the hearth, fish sizzle on the stove, and Annie turns her back on the mother and son to peer out the window at the black and white spotted dairy cows as they graze. A magpie hops along in the field and several smaller birds sing and scamper out of its way as they pick at the manure. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath. The world is such a quieter, greener place.

Returning her attention to Mitchell, she notices just how exhausted he looks and realizes that he can finally let down his guard after the days of muttered insults and taunts.

"This is good," Annie says, sliding into the empty chair beside him and resting her hand on his. "You need this… _we_ need this… quietness."

A small, wistful smile appears on his face and Annie narrows her eyes, wondering if he could somehow hear her again.

"Go and call your father in," Una says, clearly relishing the normalcy of having her son back in the house. "You know he's always puttering."

"Of course, Mam."

Mitchell lifts his heavy body from the chair and ducks out of the doorway. Annie follows him as they stroll down the length of the stone fence, scanning the heifers for any sign of the tall, bearded man. She hops up onto the fence and keeps her balance as she walks beside him, adoring the way his curls are bouncing in the wind, proud that she managed to save them by picking nits out of his head every night.

The light of the setting sun catches his face, and in his trousers and suspenders he looks so irresistible that Annie pretends to fall just to see if he'll catch her. Of course, he doesn't.

She notices two crosses beneath a tree a distance away. Just little things, and she wonders if a family dog or two is buried there.

Ducking into the stables, Mitchell narrows his eyes as he adjusts to the dim light. "Da?"

There is no human response, but something shifts in a stall and Mitchell grins. He hurries over at the same time that a bay peeks her head out at him.

"Daisy," he gushes, and the plow horse actually nickers in response. Mitchell blows in her nose then kisses it before scratching her neck, letting the old mare rub her forehead on his chest. He chuckles, and the sight is so heartwarming that Annie can't stop grinning.

"She's lovely."

Mitchell unlatches the gate and slips into the stall, closing his eyes as he gives her a big hug, whispering, "_Chronaigh mé thú an oiread sin_." (_I've missed you so much_.)

Annie cocks her head. There are hundreds of horses at the Front, and Daisy appears to just be an aged plow horse, but she is clearly special. Links to childhood are hard to come by these days.

As her soldier listens to his friend's heartbeat, Annie holds out a hand to the mare. To her surprise, she extends her neck the slightest bit, as if checking her hand for treats, and Annie stares. The thought of asking the horse if she can see her seems ludicrous, though she remembers hearing something once about animals picking up on the paranormal far more often than humans.

"You're beautiful," Annie says quietly then rubs the diamond above Daisy's nose.

"Some things never change," Malachy announces as he enters with a wheelbarrow full of straw and a chuckle. Mitchell smiles without opening his eyes. "She's just a nag, son."

"Quiet, or she'll hear you," Mitchell responds, pulling away to stroke her bony withers, but Daisy is now paying him little heed with food in sight.

At the dinner table, Una scolds him for his horse-hair covered shirt and Mitchell seems to welcome the jibe. The family digs into their meager feast, and Annie watches them all eat with a dreamy smile. "How grand to make so much with so little."

The trio stay up much later than Annie thought would be possible for her soldier, and much later than Una approves of, but Mitchell wants to hear all about local life while Malachy smokes his pipe and the fire kicks out heat. Then Una sings a song in Irish, and the men bow their heads. Annie can't understand the words and she's surprised it never even occurred to her that he comes from a region that will one day be known as a Gaeltacht. She never even asked the man she knew if he was bilingual.

They retire once the hearth is cold and an owl is hooting from the barn, and Annie decides that she much prefers this world without television and computers and sky cranes.

Mitchell crawls into his bed and is asleep within minutes. Annie is about to tuck him in when his door creaks open and Una does the job for her while Malachy watches from the doorway.

"_Codladh samh, __a stór_," she whispers. (_Sleep well, my darling_)

Annie follows their gazes and can't stop smiling, because Mitchell is so loved, and she is finally around people who adore him as much as she does.

The next morning, after the heifers are milked at dawn and eggs are collected from the hens, the family gathers around as Malachy reads the news from the Front. It is the thirty-first of July and the British have just gone over the top at Passchendaele without waiting for American assistance.

He stops reading when he reaches the casualty reports. His son locks eyes with him and the older man sighs. Neither needs to say a word for Annie to know that their son being home and safe is all they can spare to care about right now.

"So you heard about Michael, then?" Mitchell says, fixing his eyes on the grain of the wooden table.

His mother rises and carries their breakfast plates to the sink. "We held a funeral for him. Though there wasn't anything to bury."

Mitchell clenches his jaw. "And Rory? And –"

"They say there are whole villages in England who've lost all their young men," Una says, cutting him off as she watches him over her shoulder from the sink. "Whole villages, wiped out with one command. I pray that will never be us."

"There are rumors about conscription," Malachy says, leaning back in his chair.

Mitchell furrows his brow. "What? Here?"

The bearded man nods. "Folk are already talking protest. There's trouble brewing, mark my words."

Annie steps over to Mitchell and rests her hands on his shoulders and her chin on his head while the wind howls outside.

The days slip past and though he has two weeks leave, Annie wonders who ever thought that would be enough of a break.

She inspects his room as he sleeps. There is a fishing pole in the corner, several small knives scattered about, a bowl, pitcher and small mirror for washing and shaving, and a bureau for his clothing. A wooden cross is mounted on the wall, which makes her smirk, remembering his alternate life.

On the third night, he moans and kicks in his sleep. Though she tries to wake him, it's no use, and Mitchell thrashes and twitches until he finally wakes up, bewildered and sweating and scrambling for a rifle he doesn't have.

"It's all right," Annie whispers. "You're safe. You're home."

Closing his eyes, Mitchell shivers as the sweat cools his body. Wrapping himself in his blanket, he heads into the other room and sits down beside the embers in the hearth. Annie blows on them, trying to restore some heat to their ashes. He falls asleep on the floor beside the fireplace and wakes up in time to slip back into his bedroom before his parents wake.

It happens again the next night, and the next. Annie places her hands on her hips and waits for him to tell his parents, but every morning he smiles and kisses Una on the cheek and thanks her for the eggs. But even a smile as bright as his can't fool those who know him best, and Annie sees Una eyeing the circles under his eyes.

"Yes," Annie whispers in her ear. "You're right. Trust your instincts. You're his mother."

The older woman sighs.

On Friday, Annie and Mitchell walk into town to catch the train to Cork to see Felix at the convalescent home… and to pay a visit to a certain brunette. Annie expected the walk to take a matter of minutes, as it did for her in her flat at Bristol. An hour and a half later, they make it to the train stop, and though the clouds are threatening, she's glad it isn't raining, and feels guilty that she doesn't have muscles to tire. It's another hour before the train arrives, and by the time they reach Cork, it's late afternoon.

Mitchell books a room at an inn.

"Look, I've been thinking," Annie says as she follows him up the stairs and tries to help him carry his small suitcase. "Maybe surprising Molly isn't such a good idea."

He takes his coat off and inspects it for lent before hanging it up.

"She has this new job in the city and while that's great, especially in this day and age, I really don't think she's ready for you to pop in on her. She isn't settled."

Annie watches him shave and comb his hair in the mirror, thinking of how strange it is for her to know that in a different future and a different world, he wouldn't have been able to do such a simple task. He puts on a cap and a coat over his vest then sighs at his reflection.

"Nonsense," Annie scolds. "You look dashing."

Opening his trunk, he pulls out a small jewelry box and Annie's eyes go wide.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

Tucking the box in his pocket, he takes a deep breath then heads out.

"Mitchell, this is madness – you hardly know her," Annie shouts as she follows him down the stairs. "Mitchell, _please_!"

Her pleas fall on deaf ears as he walks briskly out into the street. The lamps are burning, illuminating the city in the early night, the Union Jack flags flapping hard in the breeze as Mitchell makes his way to the solicitor's office where Molly has been working as a secretary.

The place is closed, but he catches a lawyer locking up on his way out. The man tells him that while his employees lives are none of his damned business, he had overheard something about the girls who worked for him grouping up and going to the cinema. Mitchell thanks him then heads off to catch a tram, even as Annie lets out an exasperated moan.

After pacing outside of the theater for a few minutes, Mitchell finally sits down on a bench. He picks up a discarded newspaper to read as he waits, and Annie scowls at him for his hand keeps going to his pocket, as if to check that the ring is still there. He skips past the war headlines and reads the announcements section instead.

Some time later, the doors part and people begin spilling out. Mitchell leaps to his feet, his eyes wide and hopeful as he scans the crowd, searching for Molly. He grins when he spots her then waves. "Molly!"

She glances up from the conversation she's having with her friends and does a double-take when she spots him. "…Johnny?"

Mitchell grins and crosses over to her, taking off his cap and gathering her up in a hug that she returns half-heartedly with an incredulous laugh.

"What're you doing here?" she asks.

Annie hangs back, her arms folded over her chest.

"I know I should've written, but I wanted to surprise you," he says as he pulls away with a grin. He nods at her friends and is about to introduce himself when Molly cuts him off.

"No, I mean… what're you doing _here_?"

He furrows his brow slightly. "I told you, I –"

"Didn't you get my letter?"

Annie holds a hand to her forehead. "Oh boy, here it comes."

"Of course. That's how I knew you were working in Cork."

Molly parts her lips, gazing up at him with a pained expression in her blue eyes.

"Go on," Annie says, waving her hand at the girl. "Tell him."

"Johnny," she begins, "I –"

"Almost lost you," a male voice says as a man who looks to be in his thirties jogs over. "Should've known better than to even try to use the toilets but I was about to pop!" He stops beside Molly then notices Mitchell and offers him a smile. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Annie rolls her eyes. "Oh, Christ."

"N-no," Mitchell says, extending his hand. "Johnny Mitchell."

"You have a sharp look about you. Military, I'm guessing?"

Mitchell nods. "Lieutenant."

The other man purses his lips, respect in his eyes as he studies the younger man's haggard expression. "I'm Freddy Malone."

Molly's friends have started up their own conversation and turn their backs on the trio.

"Johnny and I met a while back," Molly says, slipping her arm into Freddy's. "He's been kind enough to be my pen pal and keep me up with what's happening over there."

Mitchell appears to be frozen, clutching his cap before him with both hands while Molly's eyes all but scream at him not to say anything. "Actually," he starts quietly.

"Freddy's my fiancée," Molly finishes. "Johnny was so happy when I told him of our engagement." She smiles up at Freddy before quirking a brow at Mitchell. "Weren't you?"

Mitchell has gone pale and looks as if he was just ordered to go over the top.

"You cow," Annie seethes, feeling the air of her being crackle as the rawness of her soldier's pain spreads to her. "You pathetic little wench."

"Wonderful," Freddy says with a smile. "Then you really must come to our engagement party tomorrow night. We've rented a ballroom downstairs from –"

"I really can't," Mitchell says, his voice shaking. "I have a… friend to visit. Another soldier. He was wounded."

Freddy looks genuinely concerned, and Molly looks surprised. "Bad luck, that. Hopefully he'll be all right, yeah?"

Mitchell nods stiffly. "You know soldiers. Tough as pig skin."

Freddy smirks then looks to Molly. "Shall we?"

She forces a smile before nodding and returning her gaze to Mitchell. "It was good to see you."

Annie's soldier can barely manage a nod and a tight-lipped smile as the couple moves past, walking towards Molly's group of meandering friends. With shaking hands, Mitchell puts his cap back on his head.

"Oh, and Johnny?" Freddy calls and Mitchell gives him a wide-eyed look over his shoulder.

"Thank you. For your service."

Some of the color comes back to the young soldier's face and he nods.

"Well at least _he's_ not a total twat," Annie muses, stepping up to Mitchell's side and rubbing his arm. He is staring at the cobblestones, his hands held before him as if still clutching his cap. "I'm so sorry," Annie says, looking up at his stoic expression. "I was able to make out some of all that when I read it while you slept. I wish I could've warned you."

He sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes. The doors open again and another group of chatting young people exit and it's clearly just too much. Mitchell spins on his heels and walks, normally at first, then faster and faster until he breaks into a run.

"Mitchell?" Annie runs after him, fear suddenly lending her speed as she remembers his reaction to Lucy's betrayal and the Box Tunnel Twenty. While he's not a killer in this life, she doesn't doubt that he has killed on the battlefield. "Mitchell!"

He races down the street, turning the heads of several passerby, then ducks into a park, slowing once he is out of the glare of the streetlamps. He gasps for air and leans against the trunk of a tree for support, his sides shaking. Closing his eyes, he leans his forehead against the bark, tipping up the bill of the cap.

Annie contemplates going after Molly and tripping her, but she reminds herself to be bigger than that. She had warned him in a letter, after all. It wasn't her fault that the ink had run. But it was her fault for leading him on all these months.

Mitchell lets out a horrible gasping sound and Annie expects to see him weeping, but his eyes are dry, even as his face glistens with sweat. Groaning, he shoves away from the tree and wipes his forehead with his sleeve.

The walk back to the inn takes longer because they are so turned around. Annie tries to distract him by pointing out things along the way, even though he can't hear her, but it doesn't work.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	6. May the Road Rise to Meet You

**Annie's Soldier**

**6. May the Road Rise to Meet You**

Mitchell is seated beside Felix by late afternoon the following morning.

"Really?" Felix asks, his face scrunched.

Mitchell studies his hands in his lap.

"What a hussy."

"Felix!"

"No, no," Annie announces from the foot of the bed, pointing at the wounded man. "100% accurate assessment."

Felix looks at his comrade. "You risk your life every day for her freedom. The least she could do is thank you with faithfulness."

Mitchell shrugs a little. "Maybe that's just it."

"What?"

"I _could_ die any day. That's a lot to ask someone to go through."

"Yeah, but you've got me," Annie says. "So that won't happen."

Felix shakes his head. "Whatever happened to girls chasing down uniformed men for a shag in the alleyways?"

Mitchell glares at the blonde.

Felix turns his palms up. "I'm only saying – there are other girls out there."

"Oh, don't be," both Annie and Mitchel say at the same time. "Such a horndog," Annie finishes while Mitchell finishes with "So blasé."

"It'd do you some good. Being… _that_ way… with a woman makes a man relax."

Mitchell is fixing him with a screwy look, and Annie is momentarily distracted by the thought that he is twenty-four and a probably a virgin which is just fine for 1917, or even the era she left, but so very different than the man she knew.

"I've just had my heart broken, if you didn't notice," Mitchell scoffs.

"Oh please, if that were true, you'd be a blubbering mess."

Mitchell is quiet as he studies his hands again. "Then maybe I…" He groans and looks away.

"Maybe you what?" Felix asks.

"I was gonna ask her to be my wife," Mitchell admits, pulling out the jewelry box.

"Oh shite." Felix sits up a little more. "Can you get your money back?"

"I didn't buy it! It's my gran's ring!"

"Then thank God you didn't waste it on that –"

Mitchell's glower silences him, even though Annie silently finishes the sentence with a word that rhymes with "witch." She smirks at the blonde, deciding that his brashness is good for Mitchell. He really could use him back in the trench where he has become a target.

"You're probably right," Mitchell quietly admits. "I probably didn't love her. More… the idea of her. Christ, I just wanted to be normal for once. Everyone else has got a girl back home. Half the fellas in the battalion are married or engaged. It would've been nice to just… to know that I was wanted by someone. That if I died, it would matter to someone."

"It would matter to me," Annie whispers, kneeling at his side.

Felix is quiet as he studies his friend's profile. "I suppose this is a bad time to tell you that Penny and I are getting hitched."

Mitchell's hazel eyes dart to him and Felix cracks a grin, which makes Mitchell smile. "No!"

"Yes. You should've seen her. All teary-eyed at the sight of me. If the bandages didn't get her, my limp would've."

Mitchell chuckles and Annie smiles, leaning her elbows on his knee, her chin in her hands as Felix tells the story of his childhood sweetheart's latest visit.

Penny arrives later that afternoon, when Mitchell is helping Felix walk around the garden with his crutches. To Annie's surprise, she's a pretty girl with a smattering of freckles and curly red hair. Not that she thought Felix was below her, but he was rather goofy-looking in a charming way. Then again, so was Mitchell until he smiled.

"You must be Johnny." She grins as he extends his hand but she takes him into a hug that catches him off-guard and makes Felix smirk. Annie likes her already. "I've heard so much about you. I can't tell you how grateful I am that he has a brother on the Front. It would be terrible to feel alone in that place."

Mitchell's smile hitches as he glances to his friend. "Brother?"

Felix shrugs. "If the shoe fits."

"It does," Annie says, grabbing Mitchell's hand and giving it a squeeze that he can't feel.

The three spend the afternoon swapping stories until the sun starts to set and Felix is suddenly sweating. "He's due for his morphine," Penny announces, helping her fiancé up off the bench.

"Still?" Mitchell asks.

"Get a filthy hunk of metal in _your_ leg and we can chat," Felix grumbles.

"No, thanks," Annie says.

"It's just that…" Mitchell hesitantly begins. "I've heard that some become, well, accustomed…"

"You mean addicted," Felix says, his crutches now sturdy under his arms. "Do I look like a man whose ever been addicted to anything in his life, other than the love of a good woman?"

Penny smiles and pinches his side and Mitchell nods, smiling as well. "Fair enough."

They visit Felix the following day, and Annie finds herself sad when it's time to say goodbye, not only to Felix, but to Penny. She hasn't met a young woman that she liked so much since, well, since before she met Owen, to be frank. If only Penny could hear her, she was sure they would get along smashingly.

The return to the countryside of County Kerry after the hustle and bustle of the city of Cork is quite a change, though Annie is happy to see Mitchell's parents again. While he recounts everything he has seen and done in the city, Annie wanders the stone fence outside, musing that her great-grandmother was living in Trinidad in 1917, and wondering if she could pop in and pay her a visit.

Then she turns the corner and sees the lane leading to the road and the rest of the world, and is overcome with a primal panic that fills her with visions of Mitchell riddled with bullets and being torn to shreds on the barbed wire of No Man's Land. The certainty that he is about to be in grave danger increases with every step she takes down the lane, until she hears his tortured voice screaming in her head. She presses her palms to her ears and buzzes inside until she pops back to his side.

He is seated at the table, listening to his mother. Perfectly safe and sound.

Gasping, she latches onto him in a desperate hug, kissing his temple over and over, vowing to never stray so far from his side again. And maybe it's her imagination, but she could swear he tilts his head to rest against her as he listens to some gossip Una is recounting, or so Annie assumes from the tone, for they are speaking in their native tongue. The words once sounded harsh and jarring to her English mind, but now they are wholly fay and beautified by her lover's voice, and she can't get enough of it.

The remaining days of his leave slip past with hours spent grooming Daisy, milking the heifers, and delivering the daily milk to the creamery down the road. He even tries his luck fishing from an outcropping on the shore one afternoon, and the Dingle coastline is the most beautiful Annie has ever seen. Green, windswept hills and fields are flush against the rocks and wild Atlantic.

His leave is just enough time for the routine to settle and stick, as if it was for forever, before Mitchell has to go back to the Front.

He hardly sleeps a wink the last two nights, and Annie sits on the corner of his bed, watching him with concern and stroking his hair as he stares listlessly at the wall, bathed in moonlight. The morning he is to leave, Annie is reminded of how difficult it was to get out from under her warm covers, dress, and go to school. Some days it felt almost impossible. But here was Mitchell, obediently dragging himself back out into the cruelty and death of Europe when it would be so very easy to just lie in bed and miss the train.

So easy, and yet, he would be signing his death warrant for desertion and cowardice.

Una holds him for a good five minutes before he says for the third time that he'll be late. When she finally lets him go, her cheeks are moist with tears. Her husband squeezes her shoulder and Mitchell gives them one last, heart-breaking look before turning his back with furrowed brows. His steps are slow, for he carries the weight of their hearts and his.

"_Go n-éirí on bóthar leat_!" Malachy calls after him. (_May the road rise to meet you_.)

The wind gusts, prompting Una to tighten her shawl around her shoulders. As Mitchell's feet quicken, Annie looks back at the little farmhouse, her hair whipping about her face.

"I'll look after him," she calls to Una before raising a hand in a goodbye salute.

* * *

The return to the trench is harrowing.

Mitchell and Annie march in a column of soldiers in the darkness, heading ever closer to the glowing red horizon of the Front. Explosions echo from the stained sky, and looking at the faces of the men surrounding Mitchell tells her that they are all just as quietly scared as he is, only none of them have a guardian angel too look out for them.

Something pops and hisses in the tall grass nearby, and several glance towards the sound, only to see a column of vibrant gas pluming up. An object whirls through the air and lets out another hiss.

"Gas!" someone shouts, and suddenly the orderly column is scrambling as men fight to don their masks, even as random gunfire erupts from the woods.

They are under attack.

Annie spins around to Mitchell and sees his hands fumbling as he tries to disentangle his gas mask from the strap of his rifle, only to abandon the task and grab his gun. He hastily aims and fires straight through Annie, making her gasp. When she looks over her shoulder, she sees Germans in gas masks bathed in moonlight, charging the column of men with fixed bayonets.

"Oh my God," she gasps.

Another canister erupts nearby and the men without masks launch into coughing fits, Mitchell included.

"Put on your mask!" she shrieks at him while he struggles to fix his bayonet. At her bellow, he drops the blade and tries to untangle the mask again, but his eyes are watering and he can hardly keep them open long enough to pull it free.

Another canister pops open a few yards away, and Annie watches with horror as the men beside it drop to the ground, their screams fading into gurgles as their lungs blister. The sight is so gruesome that it takes Annie out of herself for a moment before Mitchell collapses beside her.

She watches in frozen horror as he coughs, weakly trying to free the strap of his mask from his gear, his eyes red and swelling, his skin blistering.

_No_, she thinks. _It can't happen like this. Not like this. I must be dreaming. I can't be failing him. I can't let him…_

With a cry, Annie throws herself on top of Mitchell, as if her ghost form could protect him from the poison in the air. Gunshots ring out around her but Annie's fingers move nimbly as she untangles his gas mask from the rest of his gear and shoves it on his face. He feels it press against his skin and seems to come alive, dropping his rifle to tug the straps on, securing it in place.

Annie grins at his movement, showering him with hope that he will survive the damage done.

The soldiers break ranks around her and she remains where she is, shielding her soldier as she narrows her eyes at the Germans. Many are retreating as the British reorganize and fight back, firing in unison under screamed commands. The wounded are being yanked away from the gas, and Annie watches helplessly as Mitchell is hauled out from under her and dragged to relative safety with the others.

She remains at his side, holding his hand, trying very hard not to look at the boys who weren't so lucky as they take shuddering last breaths. The medics mutter prayers over their bleeding, dying bodies while stretchers are unpacked.

The Germans are pushed back and Mitchell is loaded onto a stretcher. When his arm falls limply to his side, Annie knows that he has lost consciousness, and all Annie can see is Una's face if her son dies.

* * *

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	7. Blindness

**_You all are so wonderful - thank you so much for your support! And to think I nearly didn't post this story because it had so much original content and was historical... thank you for proving me wrong!_ **

**Annie's Soldier**

**7. Blindness**

It's an entire day before Mitchell fully regains consciousness in the hospital. He was in and out, moaning and muttering Irish words several times throughout the course of the daylight, and Annie has heard the doctors murmur their concerns of mustard gas blindness as they changed the bandages over his eyes. The burns and blisters on his face, neck and hands have grown redder, however the doctor doesn't seem too concerned about them and Annie is thankful his thick uniform protected the rest of his body.

She holds his hand, as she has ever since they arrived, and has come to accept possible blindness as an appropriate price to pay after the attack. Blindness isn't death.

Mitchell takes a deep breath and Annie watches him intently, for with his eyes covered, she can't tell if he's awake or not. He reaches a shaking hand to touch the wet gauze on his face, his lips parting.

"It's all right," she soothes, praying that her comfort will somehow reach him. "You're being looked after."

He winces as he tries to pull the bandages from his face, and the pain seems to make him stop. Annie runs her fingers through his hair and he calms, giving up and holding very still as he listens to the world around him. "Is someone there?" he asks hoarsely.

"Yes, I'm here," Annie replies, but he doesn't react.

"Hello?" he calls out, a hint of panic in his voice, and a nurse is soon at his side.

"You are safe," the woman says in a heavy French accent, resting her hand on his arm, startling him. "I have been looking after you. You were in a gas attack, do you remember?"

Mitchell doesn't move for several moments, then stiffly nods.

"I know you must be frightened," the nurse continues, and Annie prays that he is able to make out the old woman's words through her thick accent. "But you are in a hospital and my name is Sister Mona. If you need anything, just call out my –"

"What's wrong with my eyes?" he asks.

The nurse sighs, her already-lined face appearing older. "They were damaged by the mustard gas, and your skin was burned. I imagine it causes a great deal of pain."

Mitchell's lips are pale and tight, which Annie knows it's a silent agreement. "When will the bandages come off?" he whispers.

"We have been changing them several times already," she says.

"And they… they don't look good."

The older woman sighs. "These things take time. We will know more later. Now you must rest and heal."

Mitchell swallows hard and is startled again when Sister Mona presses a glass to his lips and coaxes him to drink. The simple act of swallowing sends him into a coughing fit and Annie rubs his shoulder in a touch he can't feel.

The nurse leaves and he whimpers when he thinks he is alone, and Annie is sure he would cry if his eyes weren't bound.

The day is a hard one, and even in sleep, Mitchell is twitchy and restless. Annie does her best to calm him but it is little use, for the hospital is hot and stuffy and flies crawl all over his skin, feeding off his burns. The following day, the blisters that have formed on his skin pop one by one, and though Annie never was one to be comfortable around such excretions, she is happy that his skin looks better within a few hours.

The pain makes him shift and groan in bed, and Annie is glad his pride is preventing him from asking for morphine, for there is none to be had, and that knowledge alone might make him panic. At the end of the day, they change his bandages again, allowing him some time without them to test his vision.

Annie bites her lip at the swelling around his red, watery eyes. His fingers clutch the bedclothes when Sister Mona asks what he can see.

"Nothing," he whispers brokenly.

The careworn woman gives him some time to adjust to the dim light, but when even that doesn't work, she wipes away the tears that keep spilling from his irritated eyes then bandages them with cool, moist gauze once again.

"Don't write my parents," he whispers.

Once she's gone, Mitchell curls up on his side.

"I know this must seem impossible," Annie says, kneeling beside him so that she's level. "But you _will_ get through this."

He whimpers, his knuckles white as he digs his fingers into the lumpy mattress.

"Mitchell, listen to me." Her voice is firmer. "You're allowed some self-pity here, but you're _alive_. Focus on that."

Though she puts all of her will and hope into the words, it isn't enough. He doesn't touch any of the food on his dinner tray, nor on his breakfast plate the following morning.

Sister Mona has a heated discussion with the doctor in French, gesturing to Mitchell a few times, and while Annie doesn't speak the language, she sees that the doctor is young and that the old nurse is telling him how to do his job. Once the man walks away, Sister Mona steps up to Mitchell's side and tugs the sheet up over his shoulders.

He doesn't react, and Annie can no longer tell if he is asleep or awake.

Sister Mona mutters to him in French, sounding very much like a mother as she makes sure he is tucked in then takes away his uneaten food. Annie watches her care for her other patients with the same maternal strength, and realizes that like so many of these other men who have lost a limb or will forever have a limp, her soldier is grieving.

His nurse was fighting to give him space to process this change. Which means that the change is permanent.

Annie doesn't realize that she harbored hope for his recovery in the back of her mind until this moment. She sinks to his side then lies down on the bed, curling around him. "We will get through this," she whispers, even as she weeps. "We will get through this."

She nearly feels as if she sleeps, for early in the morning she is startled back into herself by a group of healthy soldiers entering the ward. Sluggishly sitting up, she rubs her eyes and watches the uniformed men, who appeared to be officers, take off their hats and take stock of the injured. They murmur amongst themselves for a moment before splitting up and perusing the aisles of wounded men and boys.

Annie narrows her eyes at them, for there is something familiar about the tingle she is getting up her spine. Then one approaches their corner, and he scans the beds before doing a double-take at Mitchell's. Annie shifts uncomfortably as he stands there, staring from a distance.

When he finally walks over, she squawks. It's Herrick.

* * *

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	8. An Offer

**Annie's Soldier**

**8. An Offer**

Herrick strides towards the bed as if he knows Mitchell, which Annie has made damn sure that he doesn't in this life. "What're you doing here?" she asks as he picks up the clipboard at the end of her soldier's bed and reads it. "Get out of here," Annie growls lowly.

"Hm," Herrick says conversationally. "Not that bad off."

"I said," she repeats, rising. "Get away from him."

Herrick furrows his brow slightly and looks up from the chart, and when his eyes flit towards her, they are unfocused. Annie furrows her brow and looks behind her, wondering if that's where his gaze has settled. Herrick puts the clipboard down then stands beside her soldier's bed.

"Lieutenant Mitchell, are you awake?"

Mitchel's body flinches at the voice. "Who's there?"

"My name is Major William Herrick."

Mitchell scrambles to sit up and tries to salute.

"At ease, lad, at ease." Herrick presses a palm to his bare shoulder and Annie glares.

"What part of 'get the hell out' do you not understand?" Annie snaps. "I know you can see me, Herrick. Just as well as I know who and _what_ you are."

Herrick doesn't react.

"A vampire," Annie says. "You're a _vampire_."

Instead of earning a shocked look from the ginger, he keeps his attention focused on Mitchell, as if he hasn't heard her.

Annie furrows her brows. "You _can_ hear me, right?"

"I'm sorry this has happened to you, Lieutenant," Herrick croons. Mitchell turns his ear towards the voice, then seems to think he's being rude and turns his face, instead, then goes back to his ear. "It's a terrible thing, losing one's vision. Crippling, really. You'll only ever be half the man you could've been."

Annie's upper lip curls in disgust. "How _dare_ you say that to him you… you… blood-sucking parasite."

"Sir…"

"No, no, please, I understand. The pain. The fear. The inadequacy. You see…" Herrick takes a seat beside the young man, taking off his gloves. "I was injured, as well."

"I… I didn't realize that you were a patient."

Herrick chuckles patronizingly.

"You're a fiend, you know that?" Annie spits. "You think you're so clever? You think you can just ignore me and I'll disappear? Your little mind games won't work on me. You see, I've been to the future. I've seen everything that's in store for you and trust me, it isn't pretty. In fact, the man lying in that bed will _kill_ you. Proper. With a stake and everything."

Herrick was never one to take such threats lightly, and Annie's indignation starts to fade as she realizes that he might honestly not be able to hear or see her.

"No, no, I'm not a patient here," Herrick continues. "You see, I was wounded in a battle long before the Great War even started."

"Boer War, then?" Mitchell asks.

"No, longer ago than that."

"This isn't right," Annie says, waving a hand in front of Herrick without even receiving a flinch. "I'm a ghost. You're a vampire. You're meant to see me."

"Forgive me, sir," Mitchell says. "But you do not sound so old."

Herrick slowly leans forward, making Mitchell tense when he rests his hand on the younger man's bandaged one, and Annie feels dread pooling where her stomach would be as she realizes that without a body, she won't be able to stop Herrick.

"That's because I'm not," Herrick whispers into Mitchell's ear, making him lie perfectly still. "You see," Herrick continues, his hand still not leaving the younger man's. "I have not aged a day since 1843."

Mitchell's brows twitch together.

"I was given a gift: Immortality. And now that gift is mine to bestow upon whomever I deem worthy."

"Don't listen to him," Annie hisses. "His words are venom."

"It will take away your pain," Herrick coos. "You will never again know suffering."

"_Liar_," Annie shrieks.

Mitchell's brows are nearly touching. "I'm dreaming…"

"No," Herrick says with a soft chuckle. "This is no dream. You are quite awake." To emphasize his point, he pinches Mitchell's arm, making him gasp in surprise.

"I – I don't understand," Mitchell says.

"I don't expect you to," Herrick says, leaning back away from his face. "It's a lot to take in all at once. The idea of living forever, frozen in your own body… invincible."

"Sir, I don't –"

"History has called us many things, and they weren't always pleasant. But above all, we have been known in the Western world by one name. Can you venture to guess what that is, Lieutenant?"

Mitchell shakes his head no.

Herrick leans in to his ear again and whispers "Vampire."

Annie's soldier freezes except for his throat that bobs as he swallows. "You… you drink blood?"

Herrick shrugs, and Mitchell can't see the hungry way he's eyeing his neck. "On occasions."

"I swear," Annie growls. "I will rip you to shreds if you touch him."

"Why?" Mitchell asks.

"Something to do with the blood in our veins going cold and slowing, I imagine. Makes us require new energy, rather like a snake or any other reptile in the sun."

Mitchell swallows hard again, and the tension in his frame tells Annie that vampire or not, he is acutely aware of the other man's rapacious nature. "Why me?" he whispers.

"Why you?" Herrick sounds amused. "Well, you're young and strong. You could use some proper feeding and a good shave but I'm certain you'd clean up all right. Besides all that… You have no family. You were injured in battle. You could just… slip away into the nameless thousands of dead and missing and never be thought of again. No one to miss you."

"You bastard." Annie sneers.

Mitchell is struggling to swallow, as if his throat has gone tight. "My parents would –"

"Get old and die," Herrick says. "It's going to happen sooner rather than later. Have you got a girl back home?"

"No, but he's got one right here, thanks," Annie says.

Mitchell hesitates then shakes his head no.

"I see," Herrick's voice turns grave even though he is smiling. "No one wants a blind man, after all. That's an awful lot to ask of a woman. In fact, I can't think of a one who would choose a sightless veteran over a… well, let's just say that not aging has its benefits."

"You mean I would be… my vision would be…?"

Herrick laughs and shakes Mitchell's shoulder. "Yes, silly. That's what I've been trying to tell you. You'd be whole again."

Mitchell smiles a little, though from the revelation or as an attempt to placate the man invading his personal space, Annie doesn't know. Scowling, she knocks the bedpan off of the foot of his bed, making Mitchell flinch and Herrick whip his head around.

"What was that?" Mitchell asks.

"Bedpan. You must've kicked it off."

"No, I didn't." Herrick stares at him and Mitchell blushes at his lack of response. "Sir," he adds.

"What do you say?" Herrick asks, shifting to sit beside Mitchell, facing his exposed neck. "A little nip, a brief pain, then it's all over. The miseries of this world are gone. Forever."

"Don't listen to him," Annie hisses in Mitchell's other ear. "I know you can hear me – a part of you can always hear me. He'll take your soul, Mitchell. He'll take your soul and torture and rape it for a hundred years before you decide to off yourself." She presses her cheek to his hand. "Please, don't do this. I beg of you."

Mitchell tilts his head towards her voice and Annie smiles.

"You want to see again, don't you?" Herrick croons, leaning down closer to his neck. "To be lovable again. To be… worth something again." Herrick's fangs slide out and nearly graze the younger man's flesh as Herrick's entire body pulses with anticipation.

"Mitchell!" Annie cries in warning.

"Major," Mitchell begins with a hard swallow. "I may not be able to see, but you are far too close to me for comfort. _Lig dom. Fág dom i m'éinear_." (_Leave me alone_.)

Herrick's hungry expression shifts to bewilderment as he leans away fractionally. Annie recognizes the familiar sound of Sister Mona's footsteps approaching and calls out to her.

"And I believe," Mitchell continues. "That you may have escaped your ward. This isn't a place for neurosis patients."

Annie is torn between barking in laughter and crying out as Herrick's expression shifts to one of rage and his eyes morph into black abysses. He hisses and lunges to undoubtedly tear out the insulting man's throat when Sister Mona approaches.

"_Monsieur_?"

Herrick freezes just centimeters from Mitchell's skin, and Mitchell instinctively leans away as he feels the hot, aged breath on his neck.

Herrick remains frozen for several heartbeats, clearly torn between his desire to feed and gnash out his revenge and the urgency of keeping up appearances. Annie has him fixed with such a stare that he could've been frozen by that alone.

His fangs disappear and his eyes clear. "There is an odd burn on this man's neck," he covers before straightening and getting off the bed. "I thought it looked infected."

Sister Mona casts him a skeptical look before bustling over to inspect her patient. "Sister Mona," Mitchell begins desperately. "That man – the Major – he doesn't belong here. He must've gotten loose from the mentally ill ward. He thinks he's a…"

The nurse looks over her shoulder just in time to see Herrick's back as he and his companions stride out. "_Monsieur_! _Monsieur_!"

None of the officers react and the doors shut behind them. Sighing, she turns back to Mitchell and perches on his bed. "I am so sorry he bothered you," she says as she smooths the sheets over his chest. "I know all the officers and did not recognize him. A scam, maybe. Trying to find a victim to con."

Mitchell's face is frozen in consternation and Annie knows he wants to finish his sentence. Instead, he relaxes against his pillow while the nurse peers at his burns.

"There is no infection. He is mad. Why does every man think he knows how to do a woman's job?"

Mitchell actually smiles at that. It's small and crooked but is the first time Annie has seen any genuine amusement on his face since the attack. Sister Mona winks at him, even if he can't see it, for she knows that mundane complaints are the surest form of normalcy to set a broken person at ease.

Satisfied that he is settled for the rest of the night, Sister Mona leaves.

"Thank you," Annie whispers to her as she passes. Sister Mona pauses, and Annie raises her brows, hoping she was heard, then watches as the older woman pulls a small Bible from her pocket and sets it beside Mitchell's bed before leaving.

Annie wonders if she is planning on reading from it to him in the morning, if she was just tired of the weight in her apron, or if Herrick had sent enough of a chill up her spine to leave it as precaution.

* * *

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	9. Cautious Steps

**Annie's Soldier**

**9. Cautious Steps**

Birdsong wafts in through a cracked window and Mitchell is straining in his bed to hear it. As his burns have healed, he has become fidgety and restless, for aside from his eyes, his body is well. Tired of watching him squirm about in bed, Sister Mona brings round a wheelchair and helps him into it before pushing him outside.

She leaves him alone with a blanket and the sun, or so she thinks, for Annie is at his side, as always. The sounds of the hospital echo through the open windows in the gaps between birdsong. Mitchell relaxes and looks peaceful for the first time in nearly a week. She wonders if he's imagining that he is back home.

The sun grows hotter and when Sister Mona doesn't return to fetch him, Mitchell cocks his head towards the sound of rustling leaves and slowly rises from the chair, catching the blanket as it falls off his lap.

"What're you doing?" Annie asks, furrowing her brow.

Moistening his lips and setting the blanket back in the wheelchair, he holds his hands out on either side of him for balance then takes a small step towards the tree.

"Mitchell?"

He takes another step, then another before pausing to reach out and make sure there are no obstructions again.

Annie fixes him with a peculiar expression as she watches him make his way over to the tree. Once he feels its shade, he smiles and eases himself down under it, snagging his bandages on a branch on the way down. They tear but do not come off, and he scoots backwards to lean against the trunk with a contented sigh.

"Yeah," Annie says with a smile, crossing over to him. "We're going to be ok."

He angles his head this way and that, listening to the various birds singing which is a balm even to her ears after all the gunfire and hissing gas.

"Look at you," she gushes, sitting down beside him with her hands folded in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankle. "Figuring this out all by yourself. You didn't even need _my_ help."

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the tree.

"Just goes to show what a survivor you are. I mean, that vile woman you were so taken with once tried to blow you to smithereens, but you somehow escaped that. And the time Herrick stabbed you. And then the time you and I were surrounded by angry werewolves…" She cracks an eye open to see what he is up to and is surprised to find his ear angled directly at her. "Mitchell?"

He doesn't respond but keeps his ear trained in her direction, despite the fact that the birds have shifted to a tree behind them.

"Johnny?" she tries, tentatively resting her hand on his. "Can you hear me, sweetheart?"

He parts his lips and takes a small breath, as if he might say something, but remains silent. She wonders if losing his vision has made his improved his hearing in unexpected ways.

"Because if you can hear me," she continues, "you need to let me know. Johnny?"

He sits stock-still for several moments until a gust of wind kicks up and tousles his hair. "Is someone there?" he whispers.

Annie grins like a maniac. "Yes, yes! Someone's here, Johnny. It's me – your Annie."

He dips his head a little, his brow furrowed, and she can't help but feel that she's losing the feeble connection they just made. Curling her legs in, she cups his cheeks with both hands, bringing her face close.

"It's me," she says. "The girl who fell down the stairs and into your heart. You're not that boy anymore, but I'm still that girl. I still…"

He flinches a little and Annie gently presses her forehead to his, letting their noses bump for a moment before kissing him. She can feel his wonderful warmth and unresponsive lips, which remind her of why she hasn't done this before. There is something wrong about stealing kisses from a boy who can't stop her and who doesn't even know who she is. But for a moment, it feels right, and she tangles a hand in his curls, willing all of her affection and passion into the simple touch of their lips.

"Yes?' he calls out as she pulls, as if he has heard someone call his name.

Annie sighs, hanging her forehead against his shoulder and hugging his neck. She knows she ought to be grateful that he even reacted at all, but in this moment, she allows herself some selfishness.

His heart is racing and he hunches slightly, as if embarrassed by answering when apparently no one had said his name.

"Never mind," he whispers to himself, hanging his head.

"Yeah," Annie agrees mournfully, still wrapped around him. "Never mind."

He reaches up through her to tear the rest of the snared bandages off of his face. Annie leans back and watches as he unwinds the gauze, and his eyes look better than the last time she saw them. The swelling is down and the skin is more pink than red. But the irises are the same hazel, torn between green and brown. She smiles because she has missed their colors.

He narrows them, as if concentrating, and she knows he is willing them to see. Then he smiles, faintly at first, before it grows.

Annie's entire demeanor shifts as she peers at him, hope brimming.

He blinks obsessively, as if trying to clear blurry vision, and then laughs because blurry vision is better than no vision.

"_Buíochas le Dia_!" (_Thank God_!)

After delicately rubbing his eyes, Annie watches with a smile as Mitchell looks around him, taking in the swatches of green and white that are the grounds and hospital walls.

"Sister Mona!" he shouts gleefully. "Sister Mona!"

Then he turns his head towards Annie and lets out a started yelp, as if he didn't expect to see someone there.

Annie screams, as well, then stumbles backwards.

Mitchell furrows his brow, reaching a hand out where she had been, feeling the empty air.

Though she spends the rest of the afternoon popping out from behind things and kissing his cheek and chin and lips in an attempt to garner his attention again, nothing happens. Yet she can't find it in her to be upset, for Sister Mona seems just as surprised as Mitchell is by this sudden shift in his health, and she proudly tells him that he is on the road to recovery.

* * *

The return to the Front is jarring even without guns firing. The British have taken over a German trench but the novelty of the new area is soon lost on Mitchell and Annie. To his surprise, his things have been saved and are returned to him by one of his men. After the mistreatment he had suffered before leave, neither he nor Annie expected any kindness.

The fading red blotches on Mitchell's face speak of the battle he has seen without him ever having to, and his comrades respect that. He falls in with a group of young Irishmen and Annie is relieved, for he is safe from English teasing while in their midst. In all likelihood, however, Private Stevens and his posse are dead. Annie figures a bigger person would be upset, but she can't find it in her to care.

One of the lads is from Tralee, which is near Dingle, and speaks Irish. He is a brunette of light build, with an unruly shock of brown hair and big, chocolate eyes that make him look younger than his years and far too innocent for the words that often come out of his mouth. He and Mitchell seem to fancy the secret conversations they can have in Irish right in front of their friends. His name is Sully something but Mitchell nicknames him "Shorty." Though Annie isn't quite sure how fair that is, for she's realizing that at six foot, her soldier is taller than most of his countrymen.

One afternoon in October, Mitchell and his comrades all bunch up together and watch a group of men settling in. Annie can't see what's so special about them other than their different uniforms and the fact that most of them have hair, but then she hears their voices.

"They're a large lot, aren't they? They're all so tall and…" Shorty starts.

"Well-fed." Mitchell finishes for him.

"I hear they eat a lot of corn."

Mitchell shoots him a quizzical look.

"Over there," Shorty presses. "They've got fields the size of Ireland."

Annie smiles whimsically. Americans. It's the first time they've ever seen Americans. Though come to think of it, she had interacted with very few while she was alive.

"Howdy boys," one of the Americans says before flashing his set of straight teeth in a smile. "You know we don't bite, don't you?"

Mitchell and his friends laugh, and Annie tags along with them as they introduce themselves. To their surprise, the Americans are as curious about the Irish as they are about them, and most seem to have close relatives who emigrated from Éire. They inspect each other's uniforms and gear, tags and pictures of sweethearts and have just started in on the latest movie star gossip when they are scolded for standing about.

The encounter seems to lift the men's spirits, however, and gives them something to talk about for days.

"One day, I'm going to write all this down," Shorty says one night as they're on watch, pacing up and down the trench.

Mitchell smiles a little. "Yeah?"

Annie is seated on a crate nearby, watching the two, thankful for the quiet of the night.

"Like an account – a real telling of what it's like out here."

Mitchell looks away. "You really think anyone back home wants to know?"

"Some might." Shorty studies him for a moment then looks out at the horizon. "They ought to, at least."

Mitchell sighs then forces a smile. "You'd be a good writer."

Shorty rolls his eyes.

"No, really. I'd buy it."

The other man chuckles. "Well, if a Black Irish like you would buy it then what am I worried about? I'll be wealthy in no time." Shorty rocks onto his heels importantly. "Buy a big old house with footmen and everything. My own valet. Could you imagine that?"

Mitchell quirks a brow. "Having another man dress you every day? No thanks."

"Ah, you're right. With my luck, he'd be a former priest."

The expression Mitchell gives him is priceless. Shock so mingled with amusement that it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, and Annie's face is throwing muted horror in the mix for priest scandals are a relatively new thing. But of course they aren't. It's only getting the perverts in trouble that's new.

Shorty tries to hide a smile at the look on Mitchell's face and shrugs. "It's not blasphemous if it's the truth."

"You're terrible," Mitchell says with a chuckle. "Absolutely terrible, you know that?"

Shorty winks but there is something dark and distant in his eyes that neither Annie or Mitchell miss.

"No…" Annie breathes, sliding off her crate to stand beside Shorty. "You were a victim."

Though he doesn't say anything, Mitchell's smile fades as his gaze lingers on his friend. He gives the smaller man's shoulder a squeeze and they share a brief look of understanding before continuing their watch.

Annie would have said more. Annie wants _them_ to say more. But her soldier has acknowledged and accepted his friend's scars without insulting the other man's pride, and that's more than enough for Shorty.

At the end of the month, Mitchell receives a letter from Felix with a wedding photo of him and Penny. He writes to his parents and finally tells them that he was wounded but would be fine, though even writing that seems to be an ordeal.

The days blur into weeks, weeks into months. The burn marks on his cheekbones fade away entirely as 1918 crawls past. There is a German counter-attack that never quite makes it to their trench. Felix writes that the Irish raised an organized protest so powerful that the English government didn't pursue Irish Conscription. Mitchell re-reads the letter several times before burning it.

Time is marked by events rather than days. There is the day that Mitchell nearly dances when Shorty offers him a cup of coffee with real cream, never mind how he got it. Annie thinks coffee got so fixated in her soldier's head as a rare commodity that he remained obsessed with it for nearly a hundred years. Then there's the time Shorty trades a tin of tobacco for floor wax and Mitchell claims he's mad until he watches him wax his gun, keeping it dry despite the rain.

One night, moaning cries rise up in the distance, like wolf howls, but none of the men seem to hear it. Annie climbs out of the trench and watches as hundreds of ghosts roam No Man's Land, flickering in the moonlight, reliving their deaths again and again. She doesn't understand it and doesn't have the energy or courage to help such lost souls, so she crawls back inside and lies down next to Mitchell.

Rumors spread that the war will soon end, but no one dares to believe them. After all, they were also told it would be over by Christmas 1914. Troops arrive from Australia and New Zealand, and Mitchell makes friends with a few of them, only to bury them days later.

In the late autumn, Mitchell and his men are sent into Ypres to assist the Belgians in turning the tide against their German invaders. The march is long and exhausting and many of the soldiers' boots are nearly worn through. They pass a muddied field, full of puddles the sizes of ponds, where a battle was fought. A tank sits near the road, half-submerged, and is the talk of the soldiers all day.

One of the artillery horses reminds Annie of Daisy. Mitchell notices, as well, and strokes her neck when they pause to hand out rations. Her foot bone ruptures through the wall of her hoof the next day and he walks as far to the front of the line as he can when she's put down. He doesn't eat that night, and Annie knows he suspects the stew meat is from the horse.

It's not like he hasn't eaten horse before, but they were horses that he didn't know looked like home.

Arriving in Flanders is one of the most humbling experiences Annie has ever had.

The city is in ruins. Piles of rubble are strewn about, but some have been piled in strategic places. The chunks of stone are so large that she can't imagine the manpower required to move them. What were once great, ancient structures now stand like eerie monoliths or massive grave stones, and the mere sight of them fills Annie and the soldiers with awe over the sheer power of human destruction.

Locals peer out at the passing soldiers, and the hope on their faces is so out of place that Annie is glad they can't see her as she shakes her head in shock.

The men are given the night to rest. Shorty found booklet of sheet music in the mud on the roadside and has been drying it out.

When Annie watches Mitchell and his comrades laugh and exchange happy glances when they pretend they can read the music and try to sing some of the songs around a fire that night, Annie glows.

"If You Were the Only Girl (In the World)" seems to be well-known, and once they get their voices in synch, their rendition is actually quite charming.

It is these bouts of laughter, these stolen moments of youth and wonder that mark her soul. Lads are lads, no matter the year of their birth. She is ashamed for ever having thought of history as boring, and for not ever taking the time to truly think about the sacrifices made in the past. These boys, these young men, all only have one life to give, and an entire generation is giving it in droves.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	10. Sunlight and Smoke

_**Ahem. That is all. ;)**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**10. Sunlight and Smoke**

"I am so confused by you, Johnny Mitchell," Annie says, watching with narrowed eyes as he meanders the length of a church that is currently serving as a hospital for soldiers and civilians alike. Her chin is resting on her palm and she is seated on a rather large slab of rubble. "You seem to hear me one minute but can't the next."

Mitchell yawns and tries to hide it with his sleeve, even though he's alone. The sun is just warm enough to be soothing and it's clearly lulling her tired soldier who has been on watch for three hours now.

"And why couldn't Herrick see me? On the one hand, he could've been faking it because as we, well, as _I_ learned, even when he has lost his memory he's incredibly dangerous." She purses her lips and tosses a pebble aside. "Maybe I'm not a ghost anymore. I must be… on another plane or something." She scrunches up her face. "You know, what even _is_ a plane of existence? I never really got that."

Her soldier shakes his head, as if trying to stay awake, then takes a sip of water from his canteen. His scarf is coming loose and his gloves are threadbare and missing their fingers, but she can't think of anything more suiting, even if autumn is in full swing.

"I'm not crazy, you know," she says, picking at her nails. "Though you're probably thinking it since here I am talking to myself… But the thing is, I never know when you're gonna hear me. And even though I know it would scare the shit out of you, it would be nice if you could hear me, you know. So that I'm not quite so alone in my inane ramblings. Then again, _you_ would be the one who'd think he was insane."

Mitchell tries whistling a tune but it makes his breath cloud before him and doesn't sound very melodic so he stops and starts kicking at pebbles instead. Annie watches him for a while then sighs. She starts humming "If You Were the Only Girl (In the World)" because it's is stuck in her head.

He walks to the end of his side of the building then strolls back, scanning the surrounding village, watching a group of children play a game of hide-and-seek amidst the rubble in the distance. Soft sounds rumble in his throat, coming out in a charming hum before forming words.

"_Sometimes when I feel bad  
and things look blue…_"

Annie falls off her perch as he sings the opening lines of the very tune she had just been humming.

"_I wish a pal I had... say one like you."_

Picking herself up from the ground, she dusts off and smiles as he strolls past.

"_Someone within my heart to build a throne  
Someone who'd never part, to call my own._"

Falling into step beside him, she lifts her voice and matches his pace, mirroring him as she sings along.

"_If you were the only girl in the world  
and I were the only boy  
Nothing else would matter in the world today  
We could go on loving in the same old way._

_A garden of Eden just made for two  
With nothing to mar our joy.  
I would say such wonderful things to you  
There would be such wonderful things to do  
If you were the only girl in the world  
and I were the only boy._"

Annie trails off before the song is done, for the light has struck his eyes as he stills, gazing into the distance, and she is mesmerized by just how many tones of the trees and earth have been illuminated in his irises.

A part of her is distantly aware that he is singing the last verse again, albeit meanderingly, and she wonders if this is what it feels like to fall under a spell. Or maybe to just fall in love again and again.

"That's us," she whispers. "You're the only boy in the world for me."

And in that moment, with Mitchell humming and the sunlight pooling in his eyes, she rests her hands on his, and the rest of the world crumbles away.

There is no war. No death. No layers of existence and time separating them. Just a girl and a boy.

He smiles wistfully and Annie's expression matches his. She leans on her tippy toes and kisses his cheek and he closes his eyes. The two linger in the moment as she gazes up at him, a hand resting on the side of his face in the middle of a warn-torn village.

A loud peal of laughter distracts him and Mitchell shakes himself, as if waking from a dream, and looks out at the children chasing each other about. He smirks, and once his watch is over, he joins them in a game of football.

Annie watches him bond with children who don't even speak his language, and can't help but wonder what it would've been like to watch him as a father. Then again, she may yet find out, even if she isn't the mother.

"I know you felt that," she whispers as he sleeps in a corner of a bombed-out building that night amidst a pile of other soldiers. "I know you can sense me. There's so much of this that I don't understand… but you once told me that you felt me when I was torn from you. Like a physical wound. Bonds like that don't just spring up like grass. They need time and love to grow… and you once loved me very much. Well, a version of you did." She sighs, lying down behind him on her back. "And I let that you die." A few tears jet down her cheeks and she wipes them away with a ringed hand. "Even if the bond didn't."

She allows herself a night of remembering and grieving as her mind wanders back to Bristol and Barry. The pink house, her fall down the stairs. Owen's screams and Mitchell's hugs and the horrible plead in his voice as he begged George to kill him. The memories feel so distant yet so sharp that they prick her soul and make it bleed.

But by the morning light, her tears have dried and Annie has come to the conclusion that if her love for Mitchell and his for her was strong enough to slingshot her through time, then there was no sense in grieving for the broken past, or feeling sorry for herself that he couldn't see or speak to her.

After all, he was human now, and very few people could even see ghosts, much less hear or interact with them. For all she knew, the moments when he sensed her were just a faulty firing of his awakening sixth sense. If she wanted him to know she was there, to really know she was there, she was going to have to try much harder.

The following day, Mitchell and his men are heading towards a German-occupied hamlet when they hear a scream issue from a farmhouse a half mile from the road. Without hesitating, Mitchell orders the four men under his command to follow him and breaks into a jog, readying his rifle as he heads to the chipping plaster walls.

Annie moves along with the men, her body prickling as a woman inside screams again and a man shouts something at her in a foreign tongue.

Once they reach the building, Mitchell signals to his men to circle around the back while he approaches the front door, hunkered low to the ground. The woman groans and Mitchell kicks the door open, his rifle at the ready.

A woman is being pinned to the table by German soldiers, and one of them has been caught in the act of unfastening his pants. Her mouth is bleeding and Annie dashes to her side, trying to yank the men's hands off of her.

"Let her go," Mitchell growls, aiming at one of the men's chests. The two enemy soldiers fix him with blank expressions and Mitchell snarls. "Don't pretend you don't understand what I'm asking you to do."

Slowly, the one with the undone belt releases his would-be victim and closes up his trousers. The second reluctantly follows his lead. Mitchell swallows hard, torn between which to train his weapon on as the woman goes still, catching her breath.

"Right. Now, drop your weapons."

The two Germans exchange a glance.

"I said, drop your –"

"Lieutenant!" one of Mitchell's men shouts from the back just before an explosion rocks the house. The windows shatter and Mitchell shields the farm woman while the Germans cower and duck to avoid the flying glass. He hisses as a shard embeds itself in his shoulder and Annie is so surprised by the sudden violence that she is having trouble keeping herself together. Literally.

Utilizing the distraction, one of the Germans launches himself at Mitchell, grabbing him from behind and wrestling him into submission on the ground while gunfire erupts outside. The other German snatches up the Irishman's rifle and points it at him.

Annie squawks as they start screaming at him in German before landing several kicks to his abdomen. Mitchell cries out and before she can even think, Annie has sent a pot flying off the stove. It hits his attacker hard enough in the head to break his concentration, and his comrade starts screaming because he just saw kitchenware fly.

Mitchell is coughing and sputtering and cutting his hands on the broken glass as he tries to get up while his attacker screams what must be "Why did you throw that at me?" to his fellow soldier.

"There's more where that came from!" Annie barks.

The farm woman grabs the fallen pot and raises it threateningly, stepping between the Germans and Mitchell. Annie steps up beside her and is shocked at this woman's strength in the face of a rifle.

A German shouts outside and his comrades back towards the door. Mitchell has finally made it to his feet and coaxes the woman behind him as the men back up and exit the house. Once they're alone, Mitchell grasps her shoulders with his bleeding hands. "Are you hurt?"

The woman stares up at him with hollow blue eyes, as if it's a struggle just to focus on his face.

Smoke wafts in through the broken windows and the farm woman starts screaming.

Mitchell releases her and creeps towards the back door before peering out. The Germans are loading into a truck and heading off, tearing into a field. Judging by the shouts echoing from the road, the British column has spotted them and is already taking shots. The four men Mitchell brought with him lie dead on the ground, making his jaw shake.

Annie holds a hand to her mouth at the sight, then notices that Mitchell still has a shard of glass in his shoulder. She reaches to tug on it to remind him, but he dashes out of the house and grabs a rifle from one of his fallen comrades. The barn is burning in the distance, sending up billows of black smoke, and the farm woman is shrieking behind him. She collapses on the doorstep, clawing at her face, and Mitchell swallows hard before following her gaze to the burning barn where he can hear a little voice crying.

"Shite!"

He slings the rifle over his shoulder and sprints towards the structure.

"Mitchell, are you mad?!" Annie shrieks before she notices a pale face looking down from the burning loft. "Oh God…"

Hastily dunking his scarf in a bucket at the bottom of the gutter, Mitchell wraps it around his face then kicks in the barn door. The billow of smoke that erupts from the pressure change nearly knocks him over and he ducks, coughing. Once the air clears a little, he hunches and enters the burning building.

"You are making this whole keeping you from dying thing rather difficult, you know that?!" Annie shouts after him as she follows him into the flames.

Whatever livestock the family kept is long gone and Annie's soldier makes a beeline for the ladder leading to the loft. Thus far, this wall of the structure hasn't been burnt but the smoke and heat alone are choking. He scrambles up the ladder and hauls himself onto the hay loft.

A little girl of ten or so sits huddled beside a smaller boy who lies on the floor, unconscious or worse. When Mitchell scoots closer, the girl screams then coughs. Tears line her sooty face.

"It's all right," Mitchell tries to say but launches into a coughing fit himself. "English!" he gasps, as clearly as he can. "English!"

Annie realizes that he's trying to tell the little girl that he's not one of the Germans, but in her hysterical state, a uniform is a uniform.

When she doesn't react, Mitchell grabs her headscarf and yanks it so that it's covering her nose and mouth. She wails on his arms as he gathers up her little brother but he ignores her until she hits the shard of glass in his shoulder, making him scream. Startled by his cry, she blinks up at him with stinging brown eyes, as if shocked that he isn't invincible. She doesn't fight back anymore when he grabs her with his other arm and scoots back towards the ladder.

"This is insane!" Annie shouts. "You can't possibly!"

The fire has spread and is rapidly climbing the wall towards the loft, igniting an inferno once it reaches the dry hay. Mitchell shifts the girl to his back and she instinctively holds on. With his free arm, he grasps the ladder and carefully shifts to start his descent, even as the rungs catch on fire.

Annie zips down to the bottom and tries to stamp out the flames, only to make them worse by inadvertently fanning them. When the ground is two yards away, the bottom of the ladder gives and shifts with a jerk. The girl slips from Mitchell's back and Annie closes her eyes, only to open them and discover that the girl has somehow landed on her hands and knees. Mitchell locks eyes with her and nods. She scrambles to her feet before darting out, screaming for her mama.

Now hanging at a dangerous angle and with an unconscious boy in his good arm, Mitchell tries to step down a few more rungs. The fire snaps and the ladder breaks free, swinging to the side before launching him towards the ground. Without a body, Annie can only watch as he lands hard on his back, the air coughed from his lungs on collision.

"Mitchell!"

He lies there, stunned and unable to breathe, while the rafters above him shift and groan, raining burning debris. Annie falls to her knees beside him as his uniform is singed by the embers. His eyes are glassy and distant and she worries he's about to lose consciousness from the blow to the head as he landed.

"Mitchell, get up," she growls in his ear. "Get up. You _must_."

He blinks sluggishly, his pupils contracting slightly as he grows more aware of his surroundings.

"Get up!" she screams before twisting the glass in his shoulder, jerking him into consciousness from the pain. Gasping for air, he struggles to sit up with the boy in his arms, even as he launches into a coughing fit. He tries to stand but his vision swims and he nearly passes out, so he drags himself towards the open door and clean air.

"That's it," Annie cheers. "Keep going!"

As soon as he is visible in the doorway, the farm woman dashes forward and grabs him by the armpits, hauling him out with surprising strength. And just in time, too, for one of the rafters gives and clatters to the floor with a shower of sparks, causing the roof to sag, feeding the flames.

Mitchell remains on his back, coughing and struggling to breathe with irritated lungs. The woman pries her son from his grasp and runs with him to the horse trough. She crouches and douses his face with water again and again, washing off the soot and muttering prayers as she shakes him.

"Andre. Andre!"

Mitchell tilts his head to try to see where the shouts are coming from, his own eyes stinging and blurring from the ash on his lashes. The little girl paces and whines, moaning as she watches her mother shake the limp form of her brother.

"Andre," the farm woman wails, and Annie readies to see his ghost step out of his little body.

Instead, there is a soft cough, and then another, and another, and the farm woman's weeping turns to tears of joy as she cradles her son to her chest. The little girl wails "Mama!" and runs over to hug her mother from behind.

English shouts echo around the property as more soldiers arrive. Mitchell winces and sits up as he sees their approach, then looks to the field in the distance. Annie follows his gaze and spots the German truck smoking in the middle of the field. One is running away from the wreck, only to stumble and fall after a rifle cracks in the distance.

She has never felt so much satisfaction over a death before.

The soldiers who arrive at the farmhouse pause when they spot the bodies of their dead comrades. One trots off to vomit, inadvertently marking himself as green, while another is easily able to look away from the dead and heads over to Mitchell. Annie recognizes him as Shorty as he nears.

"You bastard," he mutters as he crouches beside Mitchell. "What did you go and do now? Don't you know nobody likes barbequed mick?"

Mitchell cracks a grin and starts to laugh, only to cough. Once his breathing evens out, Shorty helps him to his feet and over to the trough where he splashes water on his face after yanking off the singed scarf.

Andre blinks at him sluggishly in his mother's arms, but his chest rises and falls steadily. The farm woman is now cupping her daughter's face and kissing her tear-stained cheeks. Annie rakes a hand through her curls and lets out a deep breath, turning to watch with the rest of them as the barn roof caves in.

Mitchell is seen to by a medic, who removes the glass shards and bandages his wounds. But he has a headache that he can't shake, so Shorty is assigned to keeping him awake all night in case his brain is swelling. Annie whispers reminders into Shorty's ear whenever he misses the half-hour mark, because the way her soldier is slurring his speech and can't seem to keep his eyelids open is worrying her.

When he growls at Shorty to "feck off" around three in the morning, her worry subsides a little and Shorty chuckles lovingly

* * *

Snow blankets Belgium, making even the bombed-out cityscapes appear quaint and clean. Mitchell and Shorty stick together, often huddling side-by-side for warmth as he had done with Felix in the old days. They listen to gossip whenever they can, their bodies taught and tense whenever there is news of surrenders and retreats.

The eleventh of November arrives with little fanfare, but Mitchell awakens to a chorus of screams. He and Shorty scramble for their guns and launch to their feet with a rush of adrenaline. Shorty hisses, twisting his ankle in his panic, but the cries coming from the locals are joyous.

"It's over!" A young soldier shouts as he skids to a halt at the entrance to their roofless church. "The Kaiser surrendered. Old Hun's been licked. It's over!"

He dashes off to spread the news, his voice cracking. Annie is frozen in place, terrified to believe what could be a rumor, and so are Shorty and her soldier.

So they wait until their commanding officer calls them all to attention and reads a telegraph from his superiors. His hardened face softens with a smile as he finishes.

Annie hugs Mitchell from behind with a joyous shout before kissing his dirty cheek. They all start crying, actually crying, and not a one of them cracks a joke about it.

Spirits are higher than they've ever been as the men await their orders and begin treks to ports. No one wants to be ordered to stay behind to help piece Europe back together.

On the way to France, one of their trucks pulls off the road and Mitchell and Annie watch as the dairy cart it made room for approaches. As the farmer passes, he tips his hat at Mitchell, whose healing arm is in a sling. The smiles the two exchange are so genuine and heartfelt that Annie grins. When the truck creeps forward in the muddy field, searching for a level section to head back onto the road, it triggers a landmine. The explosion startles everyone, and Mitchell and Annie duck as a tire is launched over their heads.

Mitchell's eyes are red-rimmed and he doesn't speak for at least a day because, on account of his swollen ankle, Shorty had been in the back of the truck.

* * *

A parade is held in the streets of Dublin. English flags flap, confetti is thrown from balconies, and soldiers wave as they ride through. Not Mitchell, though. He only glances at the festivities before boarding the train.

Annie watches him stare listlessly out the window and wishes he would've joined in the celebrations. He hasn't smiled in weeks. She sits beside him and rests her hand on his with the dawning sensation that surviving the war was only the start of the battle.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**

**_To listen to an amazing recording of this song, check out the one I posted on my blog: blackhawkwriter dot tumblr dot com._**


	11. Shell Shock

**Annie's Soldier**

**11. Shell Shock**

Mitchell wakes his parents up in the middle of the night by yelping in his sleep after being home for a week. Annie can't wake him, and they hurry into his room to find him on his feet and facing the wall, ready to take on an onslaught of Germans only he can see.

The two hang back, watching his sweating, trembling form for a moment before Una rests a hand on his shoulder. "Johnny?"

Mitchell yelps and spins around, raising his hand to strike. Annie covers her mouth in surprise but Malachy seems to have anticipated his reaction and yanks his wife aside. He grabs his son's wrist and when Mitchell fights back, the two end up struggling until Malachy has wrestled him into submission on the floor, both arms around his chest.

"Shh, Johnny," he whispers, even as his wife weeps. "Quiet now, lad."

Mitchell lets out a broken sob and Malachy hesitantly releases him before sending Una a look of such fear that it breaks Annie's heart.

The following morning, Mitchell's hands hug a cup of tea while his raccoon eyes stare at the rising steam. Neither of his parents got any sleep after the incident, either. And as much as her heart is breaking for the family, Annie is glad that her soldier is no longer keeping his night frights a secret from the only people who can help him.

"I remember when you were a boy and had nightmares," his mother says with a tentative smile. "A cup of warm milk always righted you."

"I'm grand," Mitchell says lowly, not looking up.

"_A stór_, if there's anything I can –" (_Darling_)

The sharp look Mitchell gives her is enough to silence her words and Annie tenses, for he suddenly looks much more like the unstable, cunning man she knew.

Una seems intimidated by his expression and looks down to her hands that she's drying in her apron.

Mitchell shoves himself from the table. "I'm going to help Da."

He slams the door behind him. Una's shoulders slump and she remains frozen, staring at the door.

"I'll see what I can do," Annie says quietly before popping to Mitchell's side. She finds him walking as fast as he can through the field, making a beeline for Malachy who is sowing a late start to the winter wheat.

The man looks up, watching Mitchell's approach with a wary eye, clearly reading the anger in his frame. "Son… _Conas ata tu_?" (_How're you_?)

Mitchell ignores him and grabs a bag of seed off the cart Daisy is hitched to. Without a word, he picks up where Malachy has left off and starts planting. His father watches him with sadness in his eyes. It's cold enough to see their breath and it's starting to mist, and Mitchell is in nothing but a shirt.

"You'll catch your death, Johnny."

The young man doesn't respond, gritting his teeth as he uses his healing arm, and Annie sighs. Physical danger was one thing. But a wounded soul… though that is something she knows more about, she has no idea how she can help him.

His parents watch him eat his dinner in silence without looking at either of them, as they have ever since he returned home. They exchange a worried look but don't comment. Annie sits down beside Mitchell, telling herself over and over that this pain will pass.

But the dance around his tension continues all week.

On a Tuesday morning, Mitchell stoically peruses the cheeses and butter for sale at the creamery and doesn't even hear Ms. Hannigan asking him how he's getting on.

Annie furrows her brow as she looks over his shoulder at the shopkeeper and Una peering at him.

"Johnny?" Una calls.

Mitchell doesn't reply, and sweat is making his brow shine, despite the coolness of the morning. He is staring intently at a red advertisement on the wall for Washington's Prepared Coffee. A can with a helmeted, cartoon soldier inside salutes the viewer with the words "_Supplied to the boys in the trenches because the Government wanted them to have the best_." He clenches his jaw, and though Annie knows the ad is a lie, she has no idea where her soldier has retreated to in his mind.

"Johnny?" his mother calls again.

Annie lightly tugs on his sleeve to get his attention and he sucks in a lungful of air, looking over at the two women with wide eyes, as if one of them had just told him the war wasn't really over and that surrender had all been a big prank. He cocks his head and mutters something that sounds vaguely like "S'cuse me" before exiting the creamery.

Annie lingers inside, watching him through the window as he whips off his cap and ducks his head between his knees, as if he's dizzy.

"Poor lamb," Ms. Hannigan says as she finishes counting out the payment she owes Una. While she's a portly older woman, most of her girth is in her chest, making her appear even rounder than she is, and rather like a hen. "It's no fun being ill."

Una's jaw is set and she forces a thin smile on her face as she nods. "You'll have to excuse his behavior. It's been a… difficult adjustment."

"You mean he keeps waking up shrieking and broke the handle off the barn door this morning. Intentionally," Annie says.

Ms. Hannigan pauses in her counting and fixes the other woman with a sympathetic gaze. "My nephew lost his legs. It was a change he couldn't handle. He took his own life."

Una parts her lips and stiffens. "Mary and Joseph… you never said."

"There isn't much honor in telling."

"I'm so sorry, Sarah."

Ms. Hannigan shakes her head. "It's not just Albert. Lads all over are struggling." The old woman bustles behind the counter and rummages through her purse until she finds a pale blue pamphlet. She steps back over to the counter with a sigh. "I've known your Johnny since the day he was born."

Una gives her a small smile then the pair glance out the window to see him rubbing his shoulder, gazing out at something in the distance.

"I remember when he was no bigger than the milk canisters yet still insisted on dragging them in through the back door." She shakes her head with a smile. "All curls and ears. It was my favorite part of the morning."

Annie eyes the older woman, wondering if she ever had children of her own.

"Now he's got that thousand-yard stare." Ms. Hannigan sets the pamphlet down. "It would break my heart if we lost him like my Albert."

Una nods, her expression tight as she tucks the pamphlet that Annie can see is titled "_The Treatment of Shell Shock_" into her apron. "_Go raibh maith agat_." (_Thank you_)

A few days later, while Mitchell is out plowing the fallow east field at his own insistence, his cruses echoing in through his bedroom window every time he hits a rock, Una pulls the pamphlet out of her apron pocket and shows it to Malachy. The man takes off his cap and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, having just come in.

"What's that?"

Annie watches from Mitchell's doorway, having heard her soldier spew so many colorful insults that she needed to take a break from the tirade.

Malachy arches a brow then opens the pamphlet.

"It says it's very important that they get lots of rest," Una says. "Warm baths. That sort of thing. Comfortable-like. Safety and routine and avoiding excitement. If we can manage that, he'll recover within weeks, it says."

"And if we can't?"

She hesitates, fighting to keep the hope bright in her eyes, and Annie realizes that this is where Mitchell gets much of his resilience. "Then… then there are centers that treat war neurosis. In England there's a doctor who –"

"England?"

Her lips form a tight line.

"I'm not sending him anywhere. He's only just come home."

She nods. "I know. Darling, I know." She pulls her husband into a hug and Annie wanders back into Mitchell's room and watches him out the window as he kicks the plow.

Grabbing an offending rock, he hurtles it at the stone fence with a cry. Then he stiffens, and Annie realizes a young woman with two children were walking past, using the field the plot over as a shortcut. The four stare at each other for a moment before Mitchell turns his back on them to grab Daisy's reins once more.

He seems to have worked himself to exhaustion, for that is the first night since his return home that he sleeps soundly. But he goes quiet after that. Even when the plow hits a rock, he stalks over, and kicks and claws until he digs it up and moves it out of the way. His fingers are cracked and bleeding and his nails chipping and purpling by the time the week is done, but he doesn't seem to mind. The field has been ploughed for the first time since the war began.

Malachy helps him with the planting, and the silence isn't as strained as it first was, though Annie thinks this is just because they've grown used to it. Though it is December, the day is unseasonably warm, and Mitchell shrugs out of his suspenders and strips off his shirt.

Annie was hoping he'd have put on some weight by now, but he seems determined to eat as little as he can, as if he feels guilty for eating when the dead can't. Malachy eyes the purple scar on his shoulder where the glass had been embedded. He parts his lips then seems to think better of it and returns to planting.

"This has to stop," Annie shouts at the missed opportunity. "You're his father. Reach out to him. _Please_."

The older man licks his lips and looks up again at his son's profile. Mitchell's expression is tight, as if planting seeds in the ground every few inches is taxing.

"H-how…" Malachy begins. "How'd you get that?" He gestures to the healing mark on his shoulder.

Mitchell stiffens but doesn't make eye-contact, choosing instead to go on with his work.

Annie rolls her eyes. "Really? Do you have any idea how brave he was to even _ask_?"

Malachy purses his lips and nods, taking Mitchell's silence as the barbed response it is meant to be. "Right. You don't have to tell me if it pains you."

Though her soldier keeps planting, his hands falter momentarily.

Malachy sighs, watching the muscles move in his son's back as he works. "Don't give up," Annie whispers in his ear. "Keep trying. He's listening. Don't be so British."

The older man swallows hard, removing his cap and running a hand through his curling hair. "Look," he says, his voice strained and warbling. "I know we don't know what it was like over there, but we read the news…"

He fidgets with his cap as Mitchell continues to work, ignoring him.

"Your mother and I… we love you so much, Johnny." His voice cracks and Annie smirks, knowing now where Mitchell gets it. "So very much."

Mitchell slowly straightens, his shoulders rising and falling with his breathing, his head bowed. "I know," he replies so softly that his voice is almost lost to the wind.

After a few heartbeats, he looks over his shoulder at his father, his growing hair plastering to his cheek in the wind.

The older man takes a half-step towards him, clutching his cap. "If we had lost you…" Annie does a double-take when she notices tears shimmering in Malachy's blue eyes. "We'd have just wasted away. And we were so scared, Johnny. So very frightened for you. Every minute of every day."

Mitchell swallows hard, his eyes locked onto his father's as the older man steps closer.

"One day, you will have a child, and you will understand what I mean when I say there is no greater love… and no greater fear than for their safety." He stops beside his son, tears slipping down his careworn cheeks and into his dark beard. "You were too young to remember Maggie. We buried her beside Shannon when you were but two."

Annie clutches her hands before her, watching them intently, realizing that the two crosses beneath the tree are Mitchell's dead sisters. By the way Mitchell's brow is furrowing, she can tell that he is just barely keeping himself in check. "She had dark hair," Mitchell whispers.

Malachy nods with a sad smile. "She did. A whole head of it, just like you when you were born."

The two look away from each other, and Malachy studies the earth for a moment before gazing at his son's profile. He rests a hand on the young man's shoulder, drawing Mitchell's attention back to him.

"My point is, we've been dragged through hell along with you these five years. It may not be the same hell you experienced, but torture all the same."

Mitchell parts his lips but Malachy continues.

"Nothing can be how it was. Nor should it. But you're our darling boy. Our one gift. And you're not alone."

Mitchell looks away, uncomfortable by his father expressing such raw emotion at his side, but even as he resists, tears pool in his own eyes. He works his jaw and turns back to Malachy, but there are clearly no words to convey his feelings, and his eyes are doing all of the work for him.

The older man smiles and cups his son's neck before resting their foreheads together, and if Annie still had a heart, it would skip a beat, for the rays of the setting winter sun beam out behind them. Malachy kisses his forehead then affectionately tousles his hair, letting his drying eyes linger on his son for a moment before grabbing his bag of seed.

Annie breathes a sigh of such relief that she feels she could fade away and float on the wind for some time. She feels a tug behind her and turns to see Una watching from the barn door, hens scratching in the yard beside her. She has paused in her feeding and seems rooted to the spot by the sight of her husband and son calling it a day and heading back to the house side-by-side, so close that their shoulders are touching.

That night, for the first time since his return weeks ago, Mitchell sits down and writes to Felix, telling him that he is home.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	12. Christmas

**Annie's Soldier**

**12. Christmas**

The tension never quite leaves Mitchell's shoulders, even as his mother drags him to Christmas festivities. He is sleeping better, but still has occasional nightmares. Loud sounds startle him. Just that morning, he dropped a plate when Daisy kicked the gate with a bang. Una watched him stare stiffly at the shattered porcelain for a few moments before assuring him that it was an ugly gift from her mother-in-law, anyway.

Annie sits with the small family now as they join the village in singing Christmas carols at an afternoon service on Christmas Eve. Though it takes three songs, Mitchell finally adds his voice, even if it is hardly a whisper.

A chorus of "_Nollaig Shona duit!_" ends the service full of smiling faces. (_Merry Christmas to you_!)

The trio stops to look at a tree in the center of the village, decorated festively. Someone asks them for a donation to help the veterans and Mitchell's small smile fades. Annie can't really blame him. The war refuses to let him go and seems to pop up every time he fractionally lets his guard down. Though the practical side of her knows that he has to find a way to cope, because the Great War is never really going away, and another world war is waiting in the wings for the passage of fifteen years.

The walk home is quiet and Una holds onto her husband's arm. The ground is so cold that the mud and even the sheep droppings are frozen. Once inside, Malachy stokes the fire while Mitchell heads to the barn and breaks the ice off of Daisy's water to make sure she can drink. She greets him with her usual nose-butt to his chest and he smiles as he pets her. When he measures out her grain, he thinks twice and gives her extra as a holiday treat.

"Softie," Annie teases with a smirk as he watches Daisy eat with relish.

Evergreen branches hang in the doorways, giving the house the tangy scent of pine. Una has pulled out all the stops and baked a pudding. It's nothing compared to the modern extravagances Annie has seen in bakeries, or even on commercials, but it is more than enough of a treat for the little family.

Their spirits are high, and Mitchell actually laughs as Una recounts the story of the Christmas Eve that they had family over and he decided to parade around the house naked, claiming he was Jesus.

"Thank God you were only three, or I'd have had you committed," Una says with a laugh, making her son follow suit.

Annie can't stop grinning at the light in his eyes. It's faint but there, like a dull ember, and she'd be damned if she didn't find every way to fan it and make it glow. Malachy seems to have the same idea and pulls out his fiddle. They listen to the lively tunes well into the night, and his mother even gets him to dance with her until they stepped on each other's feet so many times in the cramped space that they give up. Annie tries not to pout over them not knowing she's there.

Everyone has a bit of a lie in the next morning, and while Una is cooking sausage and eggs to go with a special cinnamon roll she has baked, Malachy enters the house, trying to hide a grave expression.

Mitchell is seated at the table and immediately recognizes the look, sitting upright. "Da?"

Annie feels a tingle in her frame as Mitchell's anxiety weasels into her.

"Daisy doesn't seem to want to eat her breakfast," the older man says as casually as he can.

Mitchell relaxes a little. "Well she had quite a feast last night."

Una offers him a reassuring smile over her shoulder.

"She seems content to stay where she's lying."

Fear hardens Mitchell's eyes. "She what?" He rises. "Is she colicing?"

The bearded man takes off his coat. "I tried to get her up but she's comfortable. She isn't rolling now."

Annie has heard of colic in babies, but not in horses, yet knows it has something to do with upset stomachs.

The younger man's eyes are wide. "Da, we need to walk her. We can't let her stay down."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," his mother says in what is obviously a desperate lie.

Annie closes her eyes. "Can't we have just _one_ good thing?" she whispers.

"She's covered in mud, son," Malachy says gravely. "She's been rolling all night."

Annie rests a hand on her soldier's shoulder as his skin turns gray and his eyes hollow. "Good God… I overfed her last night. I made her sick."

"No, you didn't," Malachy answers firmly. "She's been having bouts of colic on and off over the past few months. She's nearly skin and bones."

Mitchell shakes his head no.

"She's old, son. Nearly thirty. Well over your age. That's ancient for a horse, let alone a plow horse."

Mitchell sits stock still for a moment, and his parents tense, waiting for his reaction. He shoves back from the chair and grabs his jacket before hurrying out. Una closes her eyes and tilts her head to the ceiling before looking at her husband. "Couldn't you have at least told him after breakfast?"

The older man's eyes narrow slightly. "I won't lie to him."

Annie pops out and to Mitchell's side and finds him hastily buttoning his coat before hopping the stone fence and trudging through the frigid mud towards the fallen horse. She lifts her head at his approach and Mitchell smiles, even as his eyes pool with tears. "Hey, darling."

He pauses a few feet from her, waiting to see if his presence stirs the mare into getting up like it has so many times before, but her only response is to grunt as she stretches her neck out on the mud.

Mitchell's lower lip trembles. "Oh, Daisy." He cautiously approaches her front and slides down to his knees in the mud beside her neck before stroking her. "_Ta athas fearg_. I'm so sorry, love."

Tears jet down his cheeks, which makes Annie's throat tighten. She shakes her head and looks around the farm in the pale winter light, thinking of other families opening presents and sharing laughter and hating them for it while her soldier is knee-deep in mud, shaking with sobs as he kneels over his dying friend.

Mitchell's parents head out of the house but his mother only goes so far as the barn, not wanting to brave the mud. Malachy is wearing a pair of boots and when Mitchell looks up at the sound of his approach, he notices that he is bearing a shotgun and lets out a wail.

"Won't you give her a chance?" Mitchell screams hoarsely.

Malachy clenches his jaw. "She's suffering."

Mitchell shakes his head and collapses on Daisy, hugging her neck, even as she trashes her legs tiredly as a cramp courses through her. Annie kneels beside the mare, resting a hand on her back, searching for a means to ease her pain yet finding none.

"Johnny, you're getting covered," Una calls from the barn. "Come back inside."

"I don't care a jot about the mud," he whines, tangling his fingers in her mane before letting out another sob. "Just save her, Mam!"

Una shoots a helpless look to her husband before heading back to the house. Annie rubs her face. In the past, she would've hugged Mitchell and whispered comfort in his ear, but even she is tired, so tired of the suffering. And there is no real remedy to loss. She is learning that now, along with the rest of a shattered generation.

Malachy loads the gun. "You've been a good horse, Daisy. Even when I was curing your stubbornness, you were a good, hard worker."

"The best," Mitchell amends.

Malachy nods then cocks the rifle. Mitchell closes his eyes and doesn't budge.

"Say your goodbyes then step away, son."

Mitchell doesn't move, even after a minute passes.

"Johnny."

He cracks open an eye.

"She's suffering. We can end it."

Mitchell stiffly lets go as the mare lets out another groan and thrashes, clearly in agony. "I'm so sorry, _a stór_. I love you so much." (_Darling_)

He smooths the hair he mussed in her mane then plants a kiss on her cheek, taking a moment to inhale her sweet scent one last time before moving to stand, only to lose his balance.

Annie immediately lunges to catch him but of course she can't and he falls back into the mud. Malachy sighs and grabs him by the arm, yanking him to his feet. Mitchell only takes a few steps when he hears the rifle shift in his father's grasp and spins around, his eyes red and wild. "Wait."

"You've said your goodbyes."

"No, just give me a moment." He tries to get to Daisy again but Malachy presses a hand to his chest, stopping him.

"Let her go."

Mitchell shoves his hand aside and tries to reach the horse but Malachy hooks an arm around him.

"I said, let her go, lad!"

"You can't kill her!" Mitchell shoves against Malachy with manic strength as Daisy thrashes behind them, groaning.

"Go back inside," Malachy growls.

Mitchell struggles to get free of the man's grasp, and to Annie's surprise, Malachy fights back, albeit clumsily given that he holds a loaded rifle in his other hand. Mitchell growls when he can't break free and Malachy shoves him backwards.

"_Is fuath liom thú_!" Mitchell yelps. (_I hate you!_)

Malachy drops the gun and grabs him with both hands before dragging him through the mud towards the barn. Mitchell thrashes and tries to break the older man's hold on him but it's no use. Malachy heaves him onto the dryness of the barn dirt, huffing with the exertion. He locks eyes with his son, warning him not to move.

Mitchell waits until his back is turned before shouting, "You can't!"

Malachy whirls around snatches him up by the lapels so violently that Annie is just as shocked as Mitchell. "She isn't a man," Malachy growls. "And this isn't the trenches."

As his frustration fades, he recognizes the fear in his son's eyes and slowly releases him, taking a brief moment to smooth down the front of the young man's coat before heading back over to his rifle and the dying horse. Mitchell stiffly sits up straighter, half his face smeared in mud and the rest speckled with it.

Annie kneels beside him and watches his wide eyes with her own teary ones. As Malachy pulls out a handkerchief and wipes off the gun, Mitchell clenches his jaw and lets his gaze drift down to his soiled clothing. Annie rests a hand on his shoulder and flinches when he does as the shot is fired.

Malachy heads back inside after that, and Mitchell stays where he is seated for nearly an hour, looking at the ground instead of the body in the mud. When he hears the door to the house open as Una comes to look for him, he forces his stiff body to move and drags his feet into the granary, tucking himself away behind some barrels.

Annie watches Una step outside and scan the countryside for any sign of her boy, and her entire body radiates anger at her husband. Not seeing Mitchell anywhere in sight, she reluctantly goes back inside with a loud "Thanks a bundle for ruining Christmas" as the door slams. Her husband's voice rises in protest but Annie doesn't want to hear it.

She wedges herself down beside Mitchell and realizes that as much as she wishes there was something to say, there isn't. The mud on his face dries and some of it flakes off, but most of it stays where it stained him. If Daisy really was thirty, then Mitchell literally didn't know life without her.

"Sometimes, life's just shitty, isn't it?" Annie says to the air in front of her. "Even Christmas."

He closes his eyes, a line forming between his brows. She eyes him for some time before half-heartedly singing "If You Were the Only Girl (In the World)" but to no avail. Not that she expected him to start singing along with her again. In fact, she is about as fed up with being invisible and voiceless as Mitchell is with death being his shadow.

_Wait a minute_, she thinks_. I'm his shadow_. For a few guilty minutes, she contemplates the fact that he has a ghost following him around twenty-four seven, and worries that the nearness of her departed soul could be affecting the living. Then again, even a vampire couldn't see her, so who knew what she could actually cause other than occasional blips in Mitchell's brain.

As they sit there in the quiet and the cold, she wonders again what she is doing here now that she's seen him through the war.

Una doesn't come out again until after dark, and when she does, she makes a beeline for his hiding spot, which tells Annie that she knows her son's habits well indeed. She doesn't say anything by way of greeting and seats herself on one of the barrels with a sigh, a dishcloth still in hand. "Those rolls aren't going to eat themselves, you know."

Mitchell blinks but keeps his eyes downcast, tucking his arms tighter around his chest. "I'm not hungry."

Una studies him for a long while, and Annie thinks she can see new lines forming on her face even as she watches. "Your father has never been a gentle man."

"Learned that at the back of his hand, thanks."

Annie whips her head to look at him. "What?!"

"But his heart is in the right place. Johnny… he's doing the best he knows how."

"I'm sorry," Annie says. "But I'm still hung up on the hitting part. How is that _ok_?"

"By committing murder?" He looks up at his mother at long last.

"If he hadn't, her pain could've dragged on for hours before her death."

He moodily looks away. "He didn't even let me try to save her."

"_A stór_, you know she was beyond saving. Just like you sisters." (_Darling_)

Annie sets her jaw, quelling the rage she feels inside over the unfairness of the Mitchells' seemingly quiet lives. Two daughters in the ground and a son who'd apparently been knocked around by his own father before being sent to hell. The nonchalant way the two beside her are talking about it all makes her anger seem out of place.

_More like out of place and out of time_, she thinks.

Mitchell lets out a deep breath. "But I didn't try," he says, his voice shaking. "I didn't even try to get her up. I know I could have. She could've walked it off and…"

"Don't go doing that. Don't blame yourself."

"_I_ was the one who fed her last night." He looks up to Una with wide, desperate eyes as tears cling to his lashes. "I did this to her. I _killed_ her."

Una shakes her head. "If it were just a tummy ache, then she would've walked it off on her own. She wouldn't have gone down. This isn't your fault, Johnny." She waits a beat to make sure he isn't going to protest. "And neither is any bad that happened on the Front. That was all beyond your control."

He lets out a shaky sigh, his breath clouding in front of him as he wipes at his cheeks and sniffles.

"We can't stop bad things from happening, love. All we can do is pick ourselves back up and cherish the good we do have."

His jaw quivers for a moment then he nods minutely.

Una offers him a smile. "You must be cold. Come in and at least have a cup of tea."

Mitchell narrows his eyes. "Not while he's in there."

"Johnny," she says firmly. "It's Christmas. Do something to please your old mam, won't you?"

He hesitates for a few moments more, but Annie can tell it's all just for show. Stiffly rising to his feet, he takes Una's offered hand and walks with her back into the house.

Though no apology is ever spoken, the fact that neither of his parents ever ask him to clean up, and Mitchell's silent act of accepting a cup of tea poured by his father, is enough mending for now.

Mitchell's muttered words have made Annie scrutinize Malachy with a harsher eye. She can accept that getting hit by one's father was just a fact of life for children at the turn of the century, but she can't square the knowledge with the living, breathing human being in front of her.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts! Felix returns next chapter! :)  
_**


	13. The Lasses of Donnibrook

**__****Thank you all so much for your support. Having lost three horses to colic over the years (the most recent one in November :( ) that last chapter was very difficult to write.**

**Annie's Soldier**

**13. The Lasses of Donnibrook**

Una brings home a kitten a few days after Christmas, and despite Mitchell's groans and protests that he isn't a child anymore and doesn't want it, he sneaks it in from the barn to sleep in his bed the first night.

Una quirks a brow as he kicks off his boots, the ball of fluff tucked inside his coat. "What happened to 'Get rid of her, Mam, there's no room for her here'?" she says, imitating her son with an added nasal whine.

Annie snorts.

Mitchell smirks and pulls her out of his coat. "I'm not saying we're keeping her. But it's cold out there, you know?"

Malachy snores from the rocking chair by the fire. Una pours milk into a saucer and sets it on the floor for the kitten, who hops off Mitchell's lap. "She's supposed to be a mouser," she says with her hands on her hips as she watches her son grin as the little thing laps up the milk.

"I know."

She smirks while he isn't looking and Annie shakes her head, realizing that this was the clever woman's plan all along. And she couldn't agree more. There was no better remedy to death than new life.

"Well if she's going to be sleeping in here and drinking from our cows, she'll need a name."

Mitchell looks up at Una from where he's shifted to crouch by the kitten, stroking her back as she drinks. "She's so very soft."

"How about Mitten, then?"

Annie crouches beside the cat, too, and peers keenly at it, wondering if it can see her like Daisy could.

Mitchell furrows his brow and shakes his head. "Nah… I was thinking something more like… Annie."

Even though she's a ghost, Annie somehow manages to fall over and tip the saucer on her way down. Mitchell and Una dart their eyes to the kitten at the sound but the cat looks just as bewildered as they are and begins lapping the milk from the floorboards.

Una smiles. "Annie it is, then."

"What, what?" the real Annie shouts from her seat on her elbows. "What just happened?"

"Heya, Annie," Mitchell says so softly as he picks up the kitten that the ghost gets choked up. "Whaddya say?"

The kitten purrs and licks her chops.

Annie holds a hand to her chest as she sits upright. "I… I can't believe this… either I'm rubbing off on you, like, _really_ rubbing off on you… or I'm being replaced by a cat."

Her soldier rubs his nose against the kitten's and the long-haired tabby doesn't seem to particularly enjoy it.

Annie arches a brow at the cat. "Yeah, you _would_ be grey, wouldn't you?"

Later that night, Mitchell lies in bed, curled around the slumbering ball of fluff, stroking her back. Annie watches from the foot of the bed, her chin in her hands and her legs crossed. "I really have been replaced, haven't I?" He kisses the kitten's head then settles down more comfortably. Annie sighs. "I can't believe I'm jealous of a kitten."

"_If you were the only girl in the world_…" Mitchell softly sings, so quiet that Annie can only just make out the words that bring a smile to her lips.

Once he has drifted off to sleep, she tugs the blanket up around his shoulders, feeling very glowing and warm inside. She ends up spending most of the night trying to keep Mitchell from rolling over and crushing the kitten and the cat from chewing his ear off. Literally.

The next morning he has to cover it with plasters.

"A cat is a cat," Malachy complains as he watches his son dab alcohol on the tiny bite marks. "It belongs outside."

"Her name is Annie," Mitchell corrects, and Malachy shoots his wife a quizzical look while the real Annie gives him a smug smile.

"That's right. I'm rubbing off on him. _Clearly_. I would never bite his ear like that, so I obviously haven't been replaced. I mean…" She looks at Mitchell longingly. "I _might_ bite his ear like that. It's not like I haven't imagined… things."

She shakes her head, reminding herself yet again that so long as he can't feel her and doesn't know she's there, kissing him would be wrong and invasive. Though that doesn't stop the thoughts from bouncing around in her head.

Especially when he has the most adorable expression on his face as he plays with the kitten and coos her name. _Her_ name. In these moments, Annie allows herself to play a sort of game where she pretends he really is talking to her.

"You know," she whispers in his scabbing ear one afternoon as he takes a break from tending the pregnant heifers to play with the kitten in the hay. "If I had a body, we could have a lot of fun in this loft, and you'd be saying my name in a _completely_ different way."

To her surprise, he pauses with the string he's using to taunt the kitten. Annie's eyes go wide as she imagines hearing a disembodied voice say something so suggestive. She curses fate because with her luck, that _would_ be the random thing he could understand. Whatever he is thinking, though, is thrown aside when Kitten Annie takes advantage of his distraction and pounces on his hand, sinking her needle teeth into his knuckles and making him yelp.

Felix has written to invite Mitchell to his New Year's party in Cork, and to everyone's surprise, he accepts. After making sure Kitten Annie will be looked after and given his bed in his absence, he heads to the train station, ghost in tow.

Once at the inn, Annie helps him pick out an outfit for the party. At least, she thinks she's helping, even if she is just confusing him by switching the order of his shirts stacked on his bed. He looks rather smart in his vest and cap, and Annie leans her chin on his shoulder as he looks at himself in the mirror.

She scrunches her nose. "I could just eat you up."

His eyes drift to the empty space where her reflection would be if he could see it, and she stiffens. He narrows his eyes the slightest bit before spinning to look behind him, as if startled. Annie slowly backs away then holds still, wondering what he can see as he glances around the room. Apparently nothing unusual, for he returns his gaze to the mirror, focusing on where she had been. Sighing, he straightens his jacket then heads out.

As Annie follows him down the stairs and out into the street, she muses over their connection. While she knows she has been able to influence him in moments of danger and chaos, it seems to be these quiet interludes, where he relaxes and lets his mind wander, that something sparks between the two, making him aware.

That's when Annie realizes that the issue with their communication isn't her at all. It's him. He has to learn how to listen in the stillness, as he has done on accident several times already. And with the war over, there are bound to be many more quiet moments for her to say hello.

Nearly giddy, she bounds with him to the party, ready to welcome 1919 with open arms. The war is behind them and the future ahead is so full of promise.

"Please, let good things happen," Annie says as they enter the theater where the party is being held. Gold stars and tinsel hang from the walls and a gramophone plays Enrico Caruso's "Over There."

Mitchell swallows hard and scans the crowd of laughing, chatting young people. A couple is kissing in the corner and several people are already drunk and stumbling. Annie's solider shakes his head with a bemused smile. "Felix…"

Annie can't agree with him more. Out of all the lads Mitchell befriended in the trenches, Felix would be the one to throw a party like this.

Taking off his cap, Mitchell is about to step over to the keg when a young man with light brown hair and familiar goofy features slaps him on the bicep. "Hey boyo, this here's by invite only."

Mitchell arches a brow and pulls the invitation out from his breast pocket and hands it over.

The young man's eyes widen. "So you're Johnny, are you?"

"And let me guess," Mitchell says with a smirk as he takes the invite back. "You're one of Felix's brothers."

"To be sure." He puffs out his chest then slings an arm over Mitchell's shoulders as best he can with the other man being a head taller than him. Annie smirks as she follows. "Allow me to pour you a pint. I'm Danny, by the way. If you're a friend of Fergie's, you're a friend of mine."

Mitchell chuckles. "Christ, I'd almost forgotten his real name."

"I don't know which is worse. Fergus or Felix – and where _did_ that come from anyway?"

"Play a round of poker with him and you'll find out, the lucky bastard. Hey – aren't you lot supposed to be up in some shack in Letterkenny, sharing a bed?"

Danny shoves the taller man as he releases him. "Better than the bed I hear you share with your mam."

Mitchell shakes his head with a smile and as base as their jokes are, Annie's delighted to see her soldier so open to friendship again. Maybe that kitten really did help.

"Here you go," Danny says as he finishes filling a mug with the black stuff. He winks as he hands it over. "To take off the chill."

"_Sláinte_." Mitchell salutes him before taking a sip.

Danny busies himself by pouring his own and takes a gulp. "He and Penny moved into a flat. They're letting me stay on the couch till I can find my own place."

Mitchell nods, trying to hide the fact that he didn't even know where one of his best friends lived. "And how's that working out?"

Danny shrugs. "It's fine, so long as you don't mind the noise every night. They're like God-damned rabbits, you know."

Annie's eyes go wide and Mitchell actually chokes a little on his beer. "I meant the job hunt."

Danny just chuckles deviously then glances over his shoulder before fixing Mitchell with a smirk. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear."

Felix weaves his way over through the crowd with Penny in tow. "Look what the can dragged in," the blonde gushes before yanking Mitchell into such a violent embrace that the taller man's beer spills. Annie's hands hover by the mug to take it from him before it makes a mess but she restrains herself. Felix pulls back, grinning up at Mitchell with his hands on his shoulders. "I can't believe I'm looking at your pretty face. I could kiss you!"

Mitchell laughs and untangles himself from his friend. "I'm happy to be home."

Penny smiles and hugs him, much less violently than her husband. Mitchell glances down as she does so then lets out a surprised sound. Annie peers between them and realizes that Penny has a tiny baby bump and squawks as well.

Mitchell looks from one to the other with wide, happy eyes. "Congratulations!"

Penny laughs shyly with a "thank you" but Felix just smugly cocks his chin, as if he'd done it all on his own. Mitchell merely shakes his head at his friend in disbelief. "It really is good to see you, Felix."

"Why don't you write?" Felix asks, and Annie tenses, for his pupils are wider than normal, as if he's already intoxicated, and the last thing Mitchell needs right now is someone prying into his shadows. "You never write."

"I've been busy," Mitchell says and then hesitantly adds, "It's taken some getting used to."

Felix nods, looking sober for a moment, and Annie envies him the year and half he has on Mitchell's homecoming.

"Well listen, you're here now, and I intend to make sure you get pissed and have so much craic that you'll be in heaven for a half an hour before the devil knows your dead."

Annie snorts and Mitchell raises his brows with a laugh. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Felix rubs his shoulder, steering him towards the crowd. "I want you to meet some people."

Annie tags along as Felix leads him through the clumps of people, feeling a little cold and off because the room is so crowded that people keep walking right through her. She's happy to see the shorter man walking so well, even if he does have a slight limp. They pause beside a group of girls chatting gaily.

"Ladies," Felix interrupts one who sounds like she is in the middle of a story about a malfunctioning water closet. "I'd like you all to meet my friend here, Johnny." He cups a hand over his mouth and whispers "He's single."

Several of the girls giggle and the amused expression Annie was wearing slides off her face.

Mitchell blushes, offering them all a tight-lipped smile and a "Heya" before fixing Felix with an _I will kill you later_ look.

Felix innocently raises his brows at his friend then faces the young women once more. "Now you must be gentle with him. He's from Kerry. You know they're all slow in the head."

One of the girls chuckles and Annie rolls her eyes.

Felix slaps Mitchell on the back with a "Have at him, ladies!" before scampering off.

"_Really_?!" Annie calls after him then faces the girls, who are all shyly eyeing Mitchell, who is just as shyly looking back. He cracks a smile then gulps his beer.

"I'm Marie," one says with a smile, extending her hand and breaking the awkward silence.

Mitchell inclines his head, giving her hand a squeeze. "How do you do?"

"Laura," another girl says with a little wave.

"Siobhán," says a dirty blonde and Mitchell shakes her hand as well with a "Hello."

Annie does a double-take as she notices one of the girls, a brunette with a pretty face, eyeing him up and down, toying with one of her curls as he greets her friends. "Clara," she says, holding out her hand with a simpering smile that makes the ghost scowl.

To her horror, Mitchell takes her hand in his, staring at her dumbly for a moment before nearly whispering "It's a pleasure."

"Oh please," Clara says with a coy look in her eye. "I'm certain the pleasure's all mine."

That sets her friends into a fit of giggles and one playfully shoves her, only to earn a cocky smirk from the girl with sky blue eyes and painted red lips.

"I'd just like you all to take note of something here," Annie says, resting her hands on Mitchell's biceps. "He's taken. _By_ _me_. And I'm dead so I could… scare you all. Or something. So _back_ _off_."

Clara tosses her hair over her shoulder as she faces Mitchell again, who can't seem to take his eyes off her. "So are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna ask me to dance?"

Mitchell nods far too enthusiastically for Annie's liking then swallows. "I mean, no. Would you llike to dance?"

"For starters."

She takes his offered arm and saunters onto the dance floor with a wink to her friends. One of them rolls her eyes and another mutters "Can you believe her?"

"No, not really," Annie grumbles, folding her arms over her chest and remaining within the ring of girls as if she's one of them. She leans in to Siobhán. "Is she always like this?"

"In the Land O' Yamo Yamo" plays and the couples waltz to the upbeat tune. Annie watches as her soldier dances song after song with the flirty young thing and even sees Felix wink and raise his mug to him when Mitchell glances at him over his shoulder. She wonders if her attempts to flirt with him earlier are what have put these romantic ideas in his head.

What must be an hour slips past and Annie starts to loosen her crossed arms as she realizes that Mitchell has been smiling nearly the whole time. It's the happiest she has seen him in months, and that thought takes some of the bite out of her jealousy.

The same songs have been playing on repeat so Felix turns off the gramophone and before long, a jam session starts on the stage. The crowd cheers as the lively traditional tune "Lasses of Donnibrook" fills the air. Danny climbs on stage and starts dancing, and all the couples still and clap in time to the music as his feet fly, his arms still at his sides.

She watches Mitchell and Clara clap, leaning in to each other's ears every now and then to whisper something. He darts away once Danny takes a bow and comes back with a beer for his new lady friend and another for himself. Felix sidles by and slaps him on the back then says something in his ear that makes Mitchell laugh.

Annie knows she ought to be at his side still, just in case anything bad happens, but she can't see much danger here, except for her. For with every touch and stolen smile, she feels farther and farther from her soldier, and a chill settles in her chest at the thought that this is the future. Clara could be it. His happy ever after.

She makes him smile and her bold attitude is refreshing. She drinks like a man and laughs loudly. She is young and healthy and alive. So alive. They would have pretty babies together.

The pair starts dancing again, looking far more comfortable now that Mitchell has shrugged off his jacket and they're moving in cèilidh steps they've known since childhood. Then Clara stumbles and his hand falls to her lower back as he catches her, and they remain like that, with him hunched over her, for some time while they laugh. And in Annie's mind, she sees Clara with a white veil and Mitchell in a set of tails.

"What was I thinking?" she whispers brokenly. "You were never mine."

Without meaning to, she pops to his side and watches stiffly as he helps right Clara and the girl tugs his vest to straighten it, taking any excuse she can to touch him.

"You always belonged to the world," Annie says, feeling thin as other couples spin right through her rooted spot. "To music and dance and…" She gestures limply at Clara as the girl steals a kiss to his cheek then watches him with wide eyes, waiting for his reaction. Mitchell's expression softens as a tender look comes into his eyes and he leans his forehead against hers.

Annie shakes and doesn't bother to wipe at the tears running down her cheeks.

"Even if you _could_ see me, if I had a body, it wouldn't work, would it? I mean, there's that whole Civil Rights thing that won't happen for ages," she says with a bitter laugh, "And what do I matter, in the end? I give and give and give but never receive."

She swallows hard, watching the two toying with each other's hands as the band takes a break and people start up conversations. Neither is speaking, but no words need to be said.

"You were right, Mitchell. I need to stop living for other people. Which is kind of hard to do when I'm _stuck to your side_." She shrieks the last four words then pops into a corner and doesn't see the way Mitchell lifts his head and looks over Clara's shoulder in alarm, as if someone just cried out for help.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**

**_FYI, while reading this story to my sister as I wrote it, she decided that Malchy was Richard Armitage. First, Shorty was played by Damien Moloney (Hal) but then after he died, she re-casted him as Danny so that she could still picture him as I read. And obviously, she thought you all should know her picks, lol!  
_**


	14. Someone Kind

**Annie's Soldier**

**14. Someone Kind**

Annie meanders through the party, her cheeks stained with black trails from her perpetual make-up. She knocks over mugs here and there and one spills on a boy's shoes. "Oops," she says sarcastically.

It's almost midnight.

Mitchell and Clara have been tucked in a corner chatting and holding hands and once she even draped her leg over his. Felix keeps looking over and smirking at them and Annie sticks her tongue out at him, making an ugly face.

It isn't her jealousy that is tearing at her insides, but rather knowing that she can never have what is blossoming for Mitchell. She is in the midst of life, surrounded by music and dance and hormones and sweat, and yet she can't partake in any of it. She is used to this feeling from her time in the present, but it has a new sting now. She is invisible even to the supernatural.

_Alone_.

The countdown to midnight begins and Mitchell and Clara join the crowd, hand in hand. When the bell strikes twelve, he cups her cheek and kisses her. Annie watches from across the room, brushing aside the fleeting temptation to latch onto Clara to see how it feels.

The room erupts in cheers, but her soldier and his girl don't seem to notice. She tugs on his hand, leading him to a doorway that heads backstage and Annie sneers. "_Really_?"

Shaking her head, she turns her back on the door, crossing her arms, determined to leave the two to their fun. She wanders the crowd, looking for Penny, who she thinks of as a friend, and finds the red-head sitting in a chair with her feet up on Felix's lap. Annie sighs and flops down beside her. "I could really use some girl talk right about now."

"Did you say something?" Penny asks Felix, who gives her a confused, if sluggish, look.

Annie waves her hand in front of the girl's face but to no avail. This odd, tickling sensation keeps fluttering inside and Annie would drown it out with beer if she could.

"Don't mind me," she mumbles. "Just waiting for my charge. For _eternity_."

The tingling sensation pricks her and she sits up straighter, resting a hand on her stomach. Furrowing her brow, she looks behind her to see if something was perhaps piercing her ghost body when she recognizes the sensation with a start. It's Mitchell's fear.

Annie's eyes widen as the tingle turns to a buzz and in a second, she is at his side. She squawks, shielding her eyes with her hand as she finds him making out with Clara backstage.

"Okay, this is really…" She lets out a disgusted sound before lowering her hand. Clara is all but shoving herself on him, trying to wrap a leg around his while tugging at the collar of his shirt that she has already unbuttoned. "I don't think you need me for this, Johnny."

Clara lets out a hungry moan then fumbles with his trousers. His hand flies to hers as he pants. "What're you doing?"

"Don't be coy." She kisses him again, tugging his shirt off one shoulder before seating herself on a table, wrapping her legs around his waist. "It's not like you haven't done it with those girls in France."

"What?" both Mitchell and Annie say as he straightens.

Clara shrugs. "Belgium. Whatever." She smiles wickedly. "I know what you soldiers get up to. Now come on, enough foostering about."

"I-I'm sure that's true of some," Annie squawks, marching over. "But I'll have you know that _my_ soldier would never –"

Clara's lascivious expression slides off her face as she furrows her brows at the scar on his shoulder left by the glass. "How ugly."

Mitchell hastily yanks the sleeve of his shirt up to cover the scar while Annie tucks her chin in to her neck with disgust.

"Just keep your shirt on, then," Clara says with an encouraging grin, sliding her hands down his backside and kissing him again.

Annie notices other girl's hands with wide eyes. "Oh, I don't think so, missy." She tries to pry them off but it's no use.

Mitchell kisses her back, though with far less fervor before pulling away.

Clara groans. "What is it now?"

"I'm sorry," he mutters. "I just… I've never…" He sighs, gazing at her with clear eyes. "This is sinful."

She grins and yanks him against her. "That's what makes it so good."

She grabs the front of his shirt to pull him down in another kiss but he gently brushes her hands aside before stepping away and fastening the buttons.

"Ha!" Annie crows.

Clara watches with an expression of shock morphing into disgust before she tugs her dress back down over her knees. "Oh yeah? What're you, some kind of priest then?'

Mitchell sighs and leaves his shirt alone as he fixes her with an apologetic stare. "I don't think you understand –"

"What? Am I not good enough somehow?"

He furrows his brows. "No – not at all. You're lovely, Clara. And I've had a wonderful time with you tonight and would –"

"Good," she snips, her brows raised as she hops off the table, adjusting her hair. "Because it's the last night you're ever going to have with _me_."

Mitchell blinks as if he was stung. "What?"

"Trust me, you're better off without her," Annie says, stepping up to his side.

"Fergie said you'd be fun," she hisses, getting up in his face. "He didn't say you were a mangled… prude. Good luck finding a lass."

She marches off and Mitchell watches her go without a word. "Oh, for Christ's sake," Annie shouts after her. "It's a tiny scar you squeamish strumpet!"

Mitchell flinches when he hears the door slam and then goes back to stiffly buttoning his shirt.

"And don't let the door hit you on the way out!" Annie calls. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. I should've done that."

She shoots Mitchell a smirk, only to see that his hands are shaking so much that he can't get the last few buttons through their holes. Annie's heart leaps to her throat at the pale, wounded look on his face.

"Oh, sweetheart." She reaches out for him but he sags against the wall and has to bite his fist to keep from making any sound as his eyes well up with tears.

At the sight of his pain, Annie loses control. She zips back out to the party where the guests are all leaving and finds Clara putting on her coat and lighting up a cigarette. She moves to stand in front of her.

"Get your fat white ass back in there and apologize to him."

Clara shoulders her purse then laughs with Siobhán when she nearly drops her cigarette.

"And it _is_ white," Annie adds with an arched brow. "I saw more of it than I wanted to, thanks very much."

"A singed coat would just add to an already ruined night," Clara mopes and her friend squeezes her shoulder.

"_Excuse_ me?" Annie says, getting up in her face. "_Apologize_, you cow."

"Bad luck, that," Siobhán says.

"Well, it was _him_, not me," Clara says with her lips around the cigarette as the two head for the door. "And you know them lot from Kerry have all kinds of diseases. All culchies do."

That was it. When the door is swinging shut behind them, Annie kicks it so hard that it flies forward, knocking Clara flat on her face. Siobhán gasps and kneels at her friend's side. Annie laughs when she sees the brunette holding a hand to a bloody nose, screaming at the bewildered doorman.

Popping back to Mitchell's side, the boast on her lips dies at the sight of his wretched state. His hands are in his hair and his knees are pulled up to his chest as he whimpers. Annie shakes her head, feeling so helpless that she throws a doorstop to get Felix's attention.

It works and he peeks his head backstage at the sound then spots Mitchell in the shadows. He heads over with his hands in his pockets and stops a few feet from his friend. Annie's soldier looks up at him with shining red eyes.

Felix offers him a tight-lipped smile and shakes his head. "You know, if you're crying, I don't quite think you did it right."

Annie rolls her eyes and Mitchell looks away with a miserable gasp.

Felix sighs and eases down next to him as best he can with his bad leg. "I thought you two were having a gas. What happened?"

"She's a judgmental little pig, that's what," Annie huffs. "And she wanted a quickie, can you believe that? I mean, _look_ at him. Wouldn't you want to take your sweet time with _that_?" Annie gestures to her soldier.

"I didn't even know his name," Mitchell says quietly, his voice quivering.

Felix furrows his brows. "Wait, what?" He whips his head from the open door to his friend. "You were back here with a _fella_?"

The look Mitchell gives him is so devastated and confused that it answers the question for him.

"Shorty," Mitchell says. "He was my best friend and I… I don't even know his real name. Sully… something."

Felix studies his friend at length then sighs, relaxing his shoulders against the wall, as well. "What was he like?"

Mitchell shrugs a little. "Funny. Spoke Irish. Short."

Felix smirks. "Sounds top notch!"

Mitchell sniffles and Annie is relieved to see that his tears are abating. "He was going to write a book. About the war."

Felix is quiet for a moment. "Well, maybe you can."

Mitchell shakes his head.

"No free time at the dairy, huh?"

Mitchell takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Christ, why am I such a mess?"

"Everyone is, in their own way," Felix replies, his gaze distant.

"That's actually very astute," Annie insists.

They sit there in silence for some time as Mitchell's eyes clear. "So… no Clara, huh?" Felix eventually ventures. Annie sneers at the mention of her name.

Mitchell rubs his face. "All she wanted was a romp."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Jesus, Felix, you're married. You've never… _romped_ with anyone but Penny."

The blonde shrugs. "We 'romped' before we were wed, if you must know."

Mitchell sounds so surprised that the tears leave his voice. "Really?"

"Life is short with Huns shooting at you."

"But what if she… I mean… She could've gotten pregnant."

"Huh…" Felix furrows his brows, as if this is the first time he's really thought about it. Annie leans forward in shock. "I guess you're right."

"Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me," Annie scoffs. "You really don't have brain when it comes to sex, do you?"

"So," Mitchell begins incredulously, "You've never been with other girls but you go around encouraging _me_ to try it?"

Felix holds up his hands defensively. "I'm just being modern."

"More like ungentlemanly," Mitchell mutters, making Annie proud.

"At any rate, you've got time now," Felix says. "No need to rush anymore now that you're home for good."

Mitchell nods. "Yeah."

"And you never know," Felix continues. "Maybe you and Clara just got off to a rocky start."

Mitchell drags his eyes to him exasperatedly.

"You were having a lovely time before she had a go at you."

Annie rolls her eyes. "_Please_…"

Mitchell shakes his head. "It was fun at first, especially when I was drinking but… she's not the girl for me."

"Any idea what the girl for you would even be like?"

Mitchell's eyes drift across the opposite wall, eventually settling where Annie is crouched beside them, making her go still. "Kind," he says quietly. "Gentle. Funny…" He narrows his eyes and Annie cocks her head. "Sometimes I think I can see her in my head."

"What's she look like?"

"She has these curls… like Clara's except… richer. Doe-eyes…"

Annie is stock still, looking like a doe in the headlights.

"And she's warm, she's just so warm that she makes you believe the best in yourself."

Annie's lower lip trembles as her eyes mist over. "_That's what you do_," she hears Mitchell saying to her in another life. "_You make people better_."

Felix is studying his profile with a peculiar expression. "This sounds like someone you must've met before. You can't have imagined all of that up."

Mitchell raises his brows. "I'd remember if I had."

"I know a lot of girls – a _lot_. But I can't help you, boyo. Not with that tall order."

He smiles bashfully. "I know, I'm always with the faeries, huh?"

Felix shrugs. "It's not a crime to know what you want."

"I've just had this… _feeling_, for some time now, that she's out there, waiting for me, and I just have to find her."

Annie lets out a soft gasp as tears spill onto her cheeks for the second time that night.

"You soppy sod," Felix chuckles as he shakes his head. "Listen to you – you're a God damned poet! And you think you couldn't write. _Ha_."

Mitchell smiles shyly then furrows his brow slightly. "So you don't think it's queer?"

"I didn't say that. Most lads would've been more than happy with Clara and her penchant for – what did you call it? _Romping_?"

Mitchell rolls his eyes and looks away in an attempt to hide the color flushing his cheeks.

"But you've a gentler heart. And a purer mind."

"I don't mean that I don't… think about… women," Mitchell insists, making Annie laugh.

"Hey, you don't have to explain to me. But I hope you find her. I really do."

"Yeah… so do I."

Annie rises and rests a hand on her soldier's shoulder before kissing the top of his head.

"Right." Felix pats his leg. "Now get off your arse and help me clean up. Penny's already gone home with Danny and if I don't have this place sorted by tomorrow morning, I lose my deposit."

Mitchell takes Felix's offered hand and climbs to his feet.

As the two clean, Annie feels guilty for having spilled so many drinks. They make a good team, however, and Mitchell is climbing into bed at the inn at around three in the morning. Annie expects him to fall right asleep after such a night, but after several minutes of tossing and turning, it's clear that his mind is too awake for his own good.

He flops onto his back and gazes up at the ceiling. Annie crawls into bed beside him and rests her cheek on his shoulder. Something tingly slips onto her forehead and when she sits up, she realizes he's crying yet again. He rolls onto his side and the pillow sham is soon darkened by his tears.

Annie watches him cracking in the darkness. His words chase circles in her head, screaming that he needs her just as badly as she needs him. She's so very tired of seeing him suffer. But this time, it's different. This time she _knows_ what he wants. And it's her.

Instead of debating, Annie acts.

When Mitchell rises the following morning, readying to visit Felix and Penny at their flat, he grabs a clean shirt from his suitcase, sending a slip of paper fluttering to the ground. Snatching it up, he starts for the wastebasket as he unfolds it, and then stops in his tracks.

Annie stands behind him, clasping her hands in front of her with a smile as he reads her handwriting.

_I'm always with you_.

* * *

_**Please share your thoughts!**_


	15. Rumblings

**Annie's Soldier**

**15. Rumblings**

"The vote was last year while you were still at the Front," Felix tells Mitchell as Penny hands him a cup of tea.

"Thanks," Mitchell mutters distractedly.

"You're welcome."

"Sinn Féin is assembling in Dublin at the end of the month to declare independence." Felix's eyes are dancing as Penny takes her seat beside her husband. "I want to be there for it."

Mitchell nods, his gaze distant, and Felix furrows his brow.

"Are you even listening?"

Mitchell sucks in a breath and looks up. "Sorry. Yes. I'm listening."

"Didn't get much sleep last night, did you?"

Mitchell shrugs and Annie stands behind his chair, filled with more expectancy and calm than she has felt since arriving in this time and place. Her note is tucked carefully in her soldier's breast pocket and resting beside his heart.

"I can't believe how late you two were," Penny says. "Thank you for your help, Johnny. Fergie's always getting ahead of himself with these things."

"It was no problem."

"You have to take my side, you know," she says. "If it were up to me, he'd be as far from Dublin as possible when all this goes down."

"Yeah, well, the English bastards will clear out then and there if they know what's good for them," Danny says from his perch on the widow where he sits smoking. "The last thing we need is a repeat of 1916."

"Oh," Annie softly says, realizing that Danny is Felix's brother the police were asking about after the Easter Rising.

"It wouldn't happen again," Mitchell says, furrowing his brow. "Not after the war. We've all seen enough suffering."

"Oh please, they'll send reinforcements, mark my words," Danny says.

Mitchell shakes his head. "No… I know those men. I fought alongside them. They wouldn't invade."

"Christ, they already have," Danny groans. "Who do you think the RIC are? An invading army, that's what. And it's high time we treated them as such."

Mitchell draws in a long breath and looks at Felix, his eyes hardening with surprise when the blonde doesn't say anything to temper his brother's attitude. "You agree with him?" Mitchell asks.

"What's the RIC?" Annie asks.

Felix shrugs. "He has a point."

"Of course I have a feckin' point," Danny grumbles.

"The RIC are our _own_ _people_," Mitchell protests.

"Serving an oppressive government," Danny says as he hops off his perch, stubbing out his cigarette. "For the first time in history, we're about to have our _own_ government. Our _own_ representation. No more of this king and crown bullshite."

Penny shoots Danny a tense look.

"And that would be wonderful," Mitchell agrees. "Even more so if it can be done without bloodshed."

"_Exactly_," Penny agrees.

Annie is really wishing she had taken the time to learn at least an ounce of Irish history, for what she knows of the revolution isn't promising.

"Pearse tried that," Danny says. "And they killed him. Tied him up to a post and shot him."

Mitchell looks away. "I know."

"I'm going for a walk," Danny announces before grabbing his jacket and heading out.

"I'll bet you are, you little pot-stirrer," Annie mutters.

Penny watches him leave then sighs, fixing Mitchell with an empathetic gaze. "I heard about last night."

Mitchell stares at her, his hand subconsciously going to his breast pocket, as if to ask how she knew about the note.

"About Clara," Penny clarifies.

"Oh," Mitchell's hand falls back into his lap. "Yeah. That."

Annie smirks, more than happy to have overridden his memory of that tramp.

"I never liked that Clara," Penny continues, scrunching up her nose. "Which I told him the moment I saw her name on the guest list." She lightly pounds Felix's leg for emphasis.

Mitchell smiles softly, muttering "It's grand," before looking down at his hands. Annie watches Felix fix him with a peculiar stare, as if he knows he's missing something.

"Well, I hate to be rude, but I think I need to lie down for a bit."

Both men nod and Felix guides her to their small bedroom a few feet away. Mitchell watches his friend with tense energy then leans forward when Felix resumes his seat. "Something happened last night."

"Really? Because from what I heard, something most certainly _didn't_."

Mitchell shakes his head slightly, batting aside the snarky comment. "After wards. When I was back at the inn."

Felix leans in now. "Really? You mean Clara followed you home?"

"Jesus Christ – no!"

"_Hey_," Felix snaps then holds a finger to his lips, darting his eyes to his bedroom.

Mitchell sighs. "I found this."

He pulls the note out of his pocket and Annie bites her lip. Felix unfolds the paper and reads it then shrugs a little. "Well, who wrote it?"

"That's what's so."

"Did someone slip it in your pocket? While you were being monopolized by Clara?"

"Will you quit bringing her up? _No_, it wasn't that. It was in my suitcase."

Annie eases into Penny's empty seat, watching the two intently.

"From your mam, then?"

Mitchell shakes his head. "I'm telling you, it _wasn't_ there last night. I went to sleep and found it this morning."

Felix studies the note then slowly smiles. "Ah. A maid, then. That would explain the sloppy handwriting."

"Excuse me?" Annie says. She had written in her best cursive.

Mitchell holds his friend's gaze, seemingly aching to say more, yet realizing that there isn't much point. The man before him is more hardened and practical than the lad he'd once shared talk with about guardian angels on the Front. "Yeah," he says quietly, snatching it back. "Probably."

"I could likely track her down for you," Felix offers with a smug expression.

Mitchell gives him an exasperated look then downs his tea.

He doesn't speak of the note again, even though he visits for two more days. He stares at it for most of the train ride home then tucks it away under his pillow when back in his room. His mother enters the house, surprised to find him home, and Mitchell clomps onto her in a hug that lasts nearly a minute.

Kitten Annie mews as she saunters up to greet him and his mother complains that she's shredding all her stockings.

He pulls the note out to look at it as he lies in bed that night with the kitten asleep on his chest. He tilts it this way and that in the lamplight while Annie watches by the window. The look on his face is far less awed than when he first laid eyes on the thing, and she instinctively knows he is starting to worry its origins must be ordinary, after all.

She doesn't expect him to know who she is, even if she walked through the door with a body and a dress from 1919, but she had hoped to alert him that his little feelings and whispers are right.

The following morning, while pushing the cart to the creamery with his mother, Mitchell brings it up. "You know how you talk to Gran even though she's gone?"

His mother smiles and nods.

"Do you ever… have you ever, you know, been given a sign that she hears you?"

Una shrugs. "Sure, there are little things here and there that I think are from her."

"Like what?"

"I found my apron swinging on the peg the other day when I was singing one of her favorites."

Mitchell scrutinizes her while he pushes the cart that Annie has hitched a ride in.

"Why?" she asks.

"It's just this funny idea I have," he says, looking away.

"Oh God," Annie gasps. "Mitchell – I'm _not_ your grandmother."

"I mean, there were times, at the Front, where I really should have died. Men were dropping all around me yet somehow… there wasn't ever a bullet with my name on it. Almost like I had someone watching out for me, you know?"

Annie grins and clasps her hands together.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," Una says, making Annie roll her eyes and drop her hands into her lap.

Mitchell is quiet for a moment as they pass a field of grazing sheep. "Only if the Lord is a woman."

His mother quirks a brow.

"When I got my vision back, I… one of the first things I thought I saw was a colleen who wasn't there."

Annie leans so far forward that she nearly falls out of the cart.

"Oh?"

"It was blurry but… she was there one second then gone the next. And sometimes I feel this… _influence_…" He sighs and shakes his head. "It's too hard to explain."

Una squeezes his arm. "Your gran used to talk to the faeries."

"I remember that," he says with a smirk. "We couldn't eat a meal at her house until she'd left a plate of food in the garden for the Good People. She slapped my wrist once for stealing a biscuit from it!"

Annie laughs as does Una. "You come from a line of good listeners," she says with a wink as they arrive at the creamery. Mitchell tips his hat at Ms. Hannigan with a smile that the old woman returns.

Annie pops to Mitchell's side and grins proudly, linking her arm with her soldier's.

* * *

The days are freezing and full of chores. Mitchell settles back into the rhythm of home life, though this time, he keeps in touch with Felix by writing. The frost is hard on the earth and creeps up Mitchell's window each night. He has to hide under his covers in layers of clothes just to sleep, and Annie wishes she could crawl in beside him to keep him warm.

Mitchell heads into the village one cold afternoon to buy some tobacco and whiskey for his father. He stops by the coast on his way, and Annie grins and closes her eyes, holding her arms out like a bird as the wind tears through her on the cliffs, making her feel like she is flying. When she opens her eyes, she laughs, for Mitchell is doing the same.

She's surprised to see a pub in town and wonders why her soldier has never patronized it, then realizes that he lives so far away that the winding walk down narrow roads isn't worth it. Mitchell ducks into the grocery and hardware shop, lingering over the gardening tools for sale, more to get warmed up than out of any need. Annie folds her hands on his shoulder and rests her chin there.

Then a boy shouts something desperate outside.

Annie can nearly feel the adrenaline coursing through Mitchell at the startling sound. He steps outside to see what's going on and finds a small crowd gathered around a teen who is gasping for breath. One of the women in the crowd has a gloved hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.

Mitchell jogs over and instinctively scans the street to make sure they're safe. "What's going on?" he asks.

"Over in Soloheadbeg, in Tipperary," the flushed lad gasps, "two RIC were asked to hand over some explosives they was guarding, only they wouldn't." The boy swallows. "So they killed them. They killed them!"

Annie glances around at the gathering crowd as gasps rise up.

Mitchell rests a hand on the teen's arm. "_Who_ killed them?"

"Irish Republican Army volunteers."

Mitchell lets go of the boy and stiffly straightens, his breath clouding before him while the boy repeats the story to those that just gathered. Annie feels frozen in place and realizes by the look on Mitchell's face that he knows as well as she does that this is the start of another war.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	16. How to Aim

_**Wow, what enthusiasm! You all had such strong reactions to Annie leaving the note that I just hate keeping you in the dark for longer than necessary, so while I didn't plan on posting twice today, here I am to keep the story going! What I love about Being Human is the how flawed the characters are, and Annie is no exception, so I tired to capture that realistic quality in her here. **_

**Annie's Soldier **

**16. How to Aim**

The Mitchells gather around the table the following day to listen as Malachy reads the newspaper. Annie is as tense as the bodies of her adopted family as Mitchell's father stops reading with a sigh.

"So, that's it then," Una says, her voice distant.

"Sinn Féin as the First Dáil…" Malachy shakes his head. "They knew exactly what they were doing by assembling and declaring independence. Only they never bothered to ask us regular folk if we wanted revolution. Things are just fine here how they are. Christ, we've barely…"

He shoots Mitchell a furtive look then sighs, folding up the paper.

"But there was a vote," Una says, running her thumb along her lower lip. "Sinn Féin won."

"Well, _we_ didn't vote, did we?" Malachy asks.

Mitchell has been silently studying his hands this whole time, and Annie fixes him with a concerned look, for when he speaks, his voice is warbling. "No one here can possibly understand what war on our soil means."

"It's not like it hasn't happened before," his father says, stuffing his pipe.

Mitchell looks up, pale and wide-eyed as he shakes his head. "Not like this, it hasn't. They'll bring…. Artillery, and cannons, and gas and tanks." He runs a hand over his haggard face and Annie squeezes his shoulder, knowing he's fighting off memories of the Front.

"They shelled Dublin," Una says quietly. "During the Rising – sent ships right up the Liffey and practically gutted the place."

Mitchell swallows dryly as he meets her gaze.

"Then thank God we're far removed from all this madness," his father says, shoving back to get up. "I've always said the cities are the root of all evil."

Una looks like she's trying not to roll her eyes as her husband grabs his coat and heads outside. Mitchell closes his eyes, digging his palms into his sockets. His mother rests a worried hand on his shoulder, making him straighten and drop his arms. He heads into the pantry and pulls his father's shotgun out of the corner.

His mother watches silently as his skilled hands load the weapon, and the look on her face tells Annie that she's wondering at the world that turned her baby boy into a trained killer. Once loaded, Mitchell tucks the weapon behind the coats hanging on their pegs by the door then seems to notice his mother's haunted expression for the first time.

"What?"

She shakes her head. "Johnny…"

"We'll need more than one."

She rises, looking older than her years. "I've never fired a gun in my life."

Mitchell's eyes are hard. "I can't teach you. RIC will be all over us the moment someone hears a shot fired. They'd take our weapons."

She nods, holding a hand to her mouth.

"You're out in the country," Annie says, trying to reassure the woman who can't hear her. "Who would leg it all the way out here? I'm sure you'll be fine."

Mitchell squeezes his mother's shoulder. "It's just a precaution, Mam. But Da and I will feel better if we know you've a gun when you're alone."

Una squares her shoulders, seemingly drawing strength from her son's confidence. "Show me."

"What?"

"How to aim at least."

Mitchell searches her dark eyes for a moment before nodding. After a swift kiss to her brow, he pulls the gun back out.

That night, after making sure everyone is sound asleep, Annie wanders the small house, her body full of nervous energy. What was the point of being sent into the past if she didn't know enough history to protect her soldier? Wringing her hands, she paces in the main room.

Kitten Annie saunters in and salutes her with a raise of her tail. Annie smiles a little and strokes the kitten. The relief of having something recognize her corporeality is soothing and seems to clear her head.

"Right," she whispers.

Remembering the small stack of books Mitchell keeps in his room, she heads back in and pulls out one on the history of Ireland. One of the pages contains a map. Judging by the mildew and dust on the tome, Mitchell hasn't touched this book in years. He won't notice if she borrows.

Quietly as she can, she tears the map of Ireland free then examines it by the soft glow of the moon outside. Co. Tipperary is near the center of the southern half of the island and far too close to Kerry for Annie's comfort. Though, she supposes, anywhere in Ireland would still be too close for her comfort. Dublin is as far east as possible from Dingle, and that knowledge makes her relax.

Malachy is right. They are far removed.

Folding up the map, Annie peers around Mitchell's room for a place to hide it. She finds a dark corner behind his bureau that she can stash it easily enough and hides it there until she needs it again, determined to educate herself so that she can protect her family.

Her soldier's nerves have been rattled, which Annie hates more than the fact that the country is on the brink of war, because he had finally gotten to a place where he could relax. A part of his mind is always on alert now, as it was when he was in the trenches, so any hope that he'll notice her flies out the window.

It gets worse when, on the last day of January, word spreads that the IRA has declared all armed forces of the enemy to be treated as an invading army.

Mitchell sits down to write a letter to Felix, only to keep scratching out anything he thinks is seditious and in the end, just tosses it into the fire. He spends half a day rooting around in the barn until he finds an old hunting rifle. His father laughs when he sees him carrying it inside, but Mitchell cleans it up and oils it before tucking it under his bed.

February passes without much incident, and to Annie's relief, her soldier begins to relax again. The English haven't escalated their response, even after the president of Sinn Féin, Éamon de Valera, whose name Annie recognizes, escapes from an English prison and makes his way back to the emerald isle.

"I know these men," Mitchell says at the dinner table one evening. The winter wheat sprouted before the first frost, and the family is in good spirits after deciding to buy a new plow horse come spring. "They've been to hell and back. The last thing they want is to be in another battle."

Malachy grunts as he eats his stew.

"The English are stretched thin as it is. They're not the Huns. They won't just march onto our soil and start taking over the place."

"You think de Valera will be able to negotiate?" Una asks.

Annie is seated by the hearth, sneaking strokes to Kitten Annie's back when no one's looking.

Mitchell nods. "This is the dawn of a new era. They can't deny our freedom while promoting democracy abroad. We will win this peacefully."

Both his parents have stopped chewing and are staring at their son as if he were someone else.

Mitchell raises his brows. "What?"

"That's… very…" his mother starts.

"Well-said," Malachy finishes.

Mitchell blushes a little then half-rolls his eyes. "It wouldn't kill you to open a book, Da."

"Ach, you should've seen him in the classroom," Una chuckles, narrowing her eyes at her husband. "He was always too busy trying to climb to the ceiling or showing off by holding his hand over the woodstove. Left no time for learning."

"Wow," Annie breathes, realizing that Mitchell's parents have literally known each other since toddlerhood. Then again, given the smallness of their community, she supposes that everyone married someone they once watched eat their own boogies. She wrinkles her nose at the thought of having so few choices in a match, though his parents seem to love each other well-enough.

Mitchell chuckles as his father shrugs, not even bothering to deny the claim. "I learned my letters and numbers and the good book. You can only ask so much of a man."

Her soldier eyes his father with amusement, his dark gaze twinkling in the firelight, and Annie is once again reminded of how precious he is to her. She feels a rush of pride over how well she has protected him from Herrick in this life, preventing his perversion of so bright a light.

To her surprise, Mitchell pulls out the note she left him in Cork and studies it before bed. He makes a funny face as he looks at it, and Annie worries that any magic it held has since worn off.

"What's that?" Una asks from the doorway, surprising both him and his ghost.

Mitchell hastily sits on the piece of paper. "Nothing."

His mother studies him with an amused expression over his childlike behavior. "Oh? Give it here." She holds out a hand and Mitchell begrudgingly hands it over.

"It's not like it's contraband," Annie says, sitting down on the bed beside her soldier.

Una grins when she reads the note then looks up at him hopefully. "Did a colleen give you this?"

Mitchell barks something in Irish, sounding embarrassed, and after a few exchanges in their native tongue, his mother hands it back. Annie can't help but feel left out of the loop when the exchange leaves Mitchell looking like he's been told to hold onto whatever lass gave him such a keepsake.

"So…" Annie begins as he lies down once his door is closed. "I take it that you didn't tell her that your _colleen_ is dead?"

He tucks the note back under his pillow and looks just about to drift to sleep, Annie running her fingers through his hair, when he suddenly becomes alert. "Annie?"

She stiffens, her eyes wide. "What? _Yes_?"

He climbs out of bed and opens his bedroom door, allowing his little cat inside. The real Annie is so irritated that she throws herself face-first onto his lumpy bed and doesn't budge, even when he lies back down on her. The kitten purrs as he scratches her ears and Annie lifts her head up through his chest to make a face at the furball.

She could swear the cat can read her expression, for it darts a clawed paw out to slap at her face.

"Hey," Mitchell scolds, frowning at the kitten's sudden aggression. "None of that."

"Jerk," Annie taunts as she sits up and climbs out of her soldier to stand by his bed. "What have I ever done to you?"

The cat makes a haughty face then turns in a few circles on Mitchell's chest before sitting down with the smuggest expression Annie has ever seen on an animal.

She narrows her eyes. "Oh, you think there's only one _Annie_ for him, hmm?"

The kitten purrs and looks from Mitchell's tired face to the ghost, as if in confirmation.

"Oh yeah?" Annie says. "Then watch this." She darts her finger out in front of the cat, taunting it as if she were a toy. Kitten Annie tenses, watching her finger with keen eyes, darting a clawed paw out to stomp her only to have it sink right through her hand and into Mitchell's pajama top.

"Ow!" he hisses, jarred from his sleepy state by his cat's inexplicable violence.

He sits up, shifting the cat a little, but Kitten Annie is tracking something in the air that he can't see as Annie continues to taunt her. Mitchell watches with a perplexed face as Kitten Annie bats at the air and tries to sink her teeth into something invisible.

Then, with a burst of energy, she leaps off his chest to pounce at something on the floor.

Mitchell rolls over onto his side to peer down at her. "You're off your nut."

"Exactly," Annie says. She crosses her arms and smiles proudly at the kitten. "I win."

Walking back over to Mitchell's bed, she accidentally steps on the cat's tail. The grey furball seems to be able to feel the pressure, or at least is hypersensitive to it after having been stepped on so many times by Malachy. She hisses and darts into the corner, puffing up her entire body before yowling lowly at Annie.

"Oh _please_," Annie scolds. "I hardly touched you."

She looks to Mitchell for backup but his eyes are wide and he hastily sits up and kicks off the covers, his arms tense. As he scans the room, Annie realizes just how obvious it was that Kitten Annie was interacting with something he couldn't see.

Hopping out of bed, her soldier crosses to his lamp and lights it, turning it up as bright as possible before holding it out in front of him. Annie holds still, watching him as his jaw trembles slightly and he turns slowly about, illuminating each corner of his small room in turn.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Annie whispers.

Mitchell remains standing there for some time, his eyes scouring the darkness before he sets the lamp on the floor and crouches, holding a hand out for his kitten. The feline salutes him with her tail once he taps on the floor then trots over and rubs on his leg. Stroking her back for a moment, he listens intently to the sounds around him before carrying Kitten Annie to his bed.

Sitting down beside her, he lets out a sigh and seems to relax a little with the comfort of his kitten beside him. He lies back down and Annie feels guiltier each minute that he doesn't extinguish the lamp, realizing just how much she had scared him.

"I'd never harm you, my love," she says by his ear before planting a kiss to his cheek. A few seconds later, Mitchell mutters something in Irish then extinguishes the lamp.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	17. Poor Wee Bairn

**Annie's Soldier**

**17. Poor Wee Bairn**

"Jesus, Mam," Mitchell groans, dropping his head in his hands when his mother asks him to invite whatever lass left him that note over to visit. "I know, I'm meant to have made ten grandbabies by now."

Annie giggles.

"Well if not her, then _someone_."

Mitchell peeks up miserably. "Like _who_? There's only five girls in the village anywhere near my age and Cora's on her fourth child, Mary's been married two years, and Agnes hates me."

"Agnes didn't cut your hair because she hated you – she did it because she _liked_ you."

"Well she's mean and running around with Derek Mallory anyway."

Una sighs and sits down across from him with a cup of tea. "There are other villages, _a stór_." (_Darling_)

He glowers up at her beneath his heavy brows, making her own lower.

"Don't you go giving me that look."

"What look?" he asks, his face softening.

"Your brooding face."

"I don't _have_ a brooding face."

"If there was a gold medal handed out for brooding faces, you would win," Annie corrects.

"I'm only saying," his mother continues. "There are options. You're a young lad yet."

"I'm twenty-five, Mam, that's hardly young."

"Oh, please," Annie scolds. "You're an infant."

"I was _born_ by the time you were my age," he continues.

Una's tone is calm as she finishes her tea. "It was a different time, love. There's no rush. But I want to see you happy before I'm gone."

Mitchell is dragging the end of his spoon across the tabletop, tracing jagged shapes. "No, you just want a baby."

"Christ, would it be that terrible if I _did_?'

He narrows his eyes at her. Annie bites her lip then rests her hand on his thigh. "I'd help you with that, if I could, you know," she says.

"It's just a lot of pressure, you know," Mitchell says.

Una rolls her eyes and starts muttering in Irish, making Mitchell respond in kind. Annie has no idea what they're saying to each other as the conversation becomes heated but it ends with Mitchell storming out the door, Una screaming into a washrag, and Annie having flashbacks to a similar situation in Bristol when the timeslot of _The_ _Real Hustle_ changed.

"Well then don't worry, Mam," Mitchell shouts as he returns to stick his head in the door. "I'll be sure to knock up the first lass I see!"

He slams the door again and marches out. Annie slinks down in her chair, unsure if laughter is appropriate or not, then pops to Mitchell's side as he trudges down the lane. He stiffens as he notices a woman with a cart passing by and Annie knows he's wondering if his mother is watching from inside.

Once she nears, both Annie and Mitchell recognize the portly figure as belonging to Ms. Hannigan and Mitchell hastily steps to the other side of the road.

Annie snorts. "First woman you see, huh? Well, there she is. Go get her, tiger!" She squeezes his sides.

Mitchell tips his hat to the old woman then tries to yank it down low enough to hide his expression, but Ms. Hannigan doesn't take the hint. "What's the craic?"

Mitchell looks as if he's just smelled dog poo before he forces a tight smile on his lips and turns to face her. "I'm grand, and you?"

"Oh, you know," she says with a huff, leaning against her cart as if settling in for a long conversation. "My ankles aren't what they used to be. So swollen at the end of the day that I have to have them up for an hour before they shrink. And that's after a good Epsom soak."

Annie nods, happy that the woman can't see her terribly amused expression, though Mitchell's look of muted horror is plain as day.

"Of course, that's nothing compared to my bunions. Say, you know about trenchfoot, right? Would you mind having a look?" She bends over and starts to unlace her boot when Mitchell hastily backs away. "I was wading through the –"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hannigan, but I really need to see to my chores."

"Oh." She straightens. "Right you are, then."

Mitchell tips his hat to her once more with a small smile before all-but leaping over the fence and into the field. They can hear his mother's laughter echoing from the house and Annie can't help but join in.

* * *

She does her best not to taunt Kitten Annie anymore, for it seemed to give Mitchell such a fright. Though she's sorely tempted to. The feline is under the impression that it has won some sort of battle for her soldier's attention and rubs up against him with a smug look at the real Annie every chance she gets. Annie limits herself to sticking her tongue out at the cat in return.

By March, the days are warmer, even if the nights still bring a dank chill with the darkness. The winter wheat is growing and the green shoots surging out of the dark earth seem to give Malachy no end of pride.

"This is what life is about, lad," he says as he runs the soil through his fingers. Mitchell watches with a wistful smile.

The days slip past with peaceful monotony. The highlight of the month arrives when three of their pregnant heifers approach their due dates. Mitchell keeps a sharp eye on one, and Annie wishes she knows what it is he can see in the cow that she can't.

He rests his arms on the gate, watching the heifer eat as his father walks by behind him with a few buckets of hot water to pour in their troughs to keep them from freezing half the night.

"Hey, Da," Mitchell calls out as he passes.

"Huh?"

"I'm thinking she'll be calving tonight, yeah?"

Malachy sets the buckets down then heads over to his son, peering out into paddock with him. Annie wishes she could take a photo of them, for they have matching expressions of concentration on their faces. "Hard to say," he assesses before resuming his chore.

Mitchell reluctantly heads inside for a cup of tea as the sun sets and finds his mother scolding Kitten Annie for having leaped onto the table to steal food. "She is _anything_ but a mouser," Una complains.

"I couldn't agree more," Annie says, marching over to the other woman's side. "She's a total and complete _hussy_."

"Oh, my poor wee bairn," Mitchell coos at the cat as he scoops her up and dramatically shields her from his mother's glare. "She's innocent as a lamb. Just look at her."

The women do. Kitten Annie gives the tip of her tail and taunting flick as she curls in Mitchell's arms, rubbing her head against his stubble. Annie narrows her eyes. "This isn't over, you know. One day he's not going to be around to save you."

The cat just rubs all the harder against his chin, making him laugh.

They're scarcely inside for a half hour before Malachy calls for Mitchell. He and Annie jog out to see what's wrong and find the bearded man grinning, leaning against the gate.

"Da?"

"See for yourself, Johnny boy."

Mitchell follows his gaze and spies the heifer he'd singled out earlier. She's stalking about in agitated circles and kicking at her stomach with a hoof every now and again.

Mitchell shoots his father a hopeful look and the man rests a hand on his back. "You were right."

Annie grins. "Of course he was. He's a genius, after all."

"How soon do you think?"

"Difficult to say for sure. Her udder's been swollen for a full week now."

A handful of other heifers start to make their way over to the humans, hopeful that the two-leggeds bear food, no doubt, and the calving heifer shuffles to get away from them, swishing her tail. Mitchell grins and points to her backside as it jiggles. "She's gone all loosy-goosey."

Annie does a double-take as she realizes what she's looking at. "Are those her… lady parts?"

Malachy nods. "Best isolate her while we can."

Mitchell grabs a halter and a lead then hops the fence. Annie studies Malachy as he watches his child with pride. "You done good, lad," he calls out. "I'll rest easier in my grave knowing I've left the farm in such good hands."

Mitchell halters the cow then leads her towards the gate while Malachy shoos the others away.

"The ladies will be lining up just for a look at you once this is all yours."

"Oh, _Da_," Mitchell scolds with a furrowed brow.

The older man merely chuckles and winks before opening the gate for him.

"I'm beginning to notice a pattern," Annie drawls. "No wonder he gets annoyed."

Malachy has to stick his head out of the house and bellow for his son three times before Mitchell can be coaxed into leaving the heifer alone in her stall so that he can eat his dinner. Even then, he wakes up four times in the night to bundle up and head out to check on her.

Annie is starting to think that Malachy's right and that this is all a to do about nothing when she follows her soldier into the barn around five in the morning to find a pair of hooves sticking out of the heifer's back end. She gasps and Mitchell smiles.

Setting his oil lamp down, he crouches beside the fence, giving the wide-eyed cow her space as she huffs through a labor pain. Annie has never seen anything birthed before, and is surprised at how quick the process is once the calf's hooves and nose are out. The baby is all but spilled out onto the straw, rupturing the sack around it. The heifer shuffles to turn around and inspect her newborn before licking up the fluid on its face.

"This is so…" Annie begins, but can't find words as the calf's face is revealed. "_Wow_."

Mitchell bites his lip, leaning on his haunches as he watches. All must be well, for he doesn't intervene. She rests her hand over his, savoring the delight in his eyes as much as the joy of the new life in front of them.

The calf is trying to shakily stand on its own within minutes, and it takes it less than a half hour to stumble into its mother.

"This is incredible," Annie says with a laugh. She rests her head on her soldier's shoulder. They remain with the cow until Una comes out to find him with the sun.

Growing up on a dairy, Mitchell must've seen dozens of births before, but there was something about this one that made it special. Annie counts back to 1914 in her head and realizes Mitchell was barely twenty when he enlisted. In many ways, this is his first calving as an adult, but even more so, as one whose soul so desperately needed memories of new life to outweigh the deaths.

Over the next week, two more heifers start to calve. Mitchell sings a soothing lilt in Irish to the birthing cow, and Annie thinks she could lose herself in the song. He seems disappointed that the calf is a bull. Among the three newborns, he is up multiple times almost every night to check on them and starts to resemble a raccoon more than a man.

"You need to pace yourself," his father cautions as he watches Mitchell inspect the belly of the young bull as it nurses.

"I'm grand."

The two glance over at Una as her voice drifts to them. She's speaking with Ms. Hannigan in the doorway. Annie is tempted to pop over and hear the gossip but watching her soldier dote on the calf is too adorable.

At length, his mother joins them, and the tight expression on her face worries all three.

"Love?" Malachy asks.

"Ms. Hannigan has just heard from her brother. Seems the IRA raided an ammunitions and weapons store in Dublin."

Mitchell studies her with narrowed eyes, his curls fluttering around his face.

"And some time before that, a Magistrate was killed over in Mayo."

"Jesus Christ," Malachy swears, taking off his hat.

"What did they go and do that for?" Mitchell asks.

"He imprisoned volunteers for assembling and drilling. They don't want people having meetings of any kind."

The two men and Annie have stoic expressions and Mitchell slowly nods. Annie scrutinizes him intently, worried that this news will chip away at the hard-earned peacefulness that has settled in his soul of late.

"I suppose then…" Mitchell begins, "that it's a good thing my gentleman's club meeting has been cancelled for this month."

Annie smirks, relief flooding through her at the crack.

"It's a bunch of damn kids who don't know a thing about what they're doing," he says, and Annie knows he's thinking of Danny and his mighty talk. "If it's a fight they want then they should've gone to the Front. There are other ways of doing things without banjaxing it all."

"Hopefully this is the last of it," Una says before heading back to the house.

Malachy sighs and runs a hand through his hair before eyeing the bull calf nursing. "He should be fat and ready for the slaughter by fall."

Mitchell follows his gaze to the docile, long-lashed newborn. From then on, he avoids the bull as much as he can, and Annie doesn't blame him for not wanting an ounce of attachment to something he's guaranteed to lose.

That night, Mitchell spends a handful of minutes smoothing out a piece of paper and arranging it on his bureau by a pencil. Annie watches him curiously, wondering who he is going to write to after such care. He straightens and glances around the room, pursing his lips in thought as he eyes his surroundings. His gaze falls upon a patch of floor by his bed where Kitten Annie is watching him.

Crouching down, he shoos her away before placing the pencil and paper on the floor and arranging them so that the pencil won't roll away on the uneven boards. The cat watches him curiously and bats at his fingers.

"_Stad_," he hisses but the cat continues. "_Na dean sin_." (_Stop. Don't do that._)

"Brat," Annie says to the cat.

Scooping her up, he places Kitten Annie on his bed then climbs in. He lies on his stomach, his chin resting on his folded hands as he watches the pencil and paper.

Anne cautiously steps over to him, her brow furrowed. "What're you up to, odd one?"

When nothing happens, he gets up and turns off the lamp then goes to bed, lying on his side and watching the floor, even as the cat licks his ear, trying to get his attention. He eventually drifts to sleep but the news of the day has Annie rattled, for she knows that this won't all blow over like Mitchell hopes.

Una brought home a new tin of tea this afternoon, so Annie slips into the kitchen and opens it. If she concentrates hard enough, she can almost smell it, and the scent brings her back to Bristol and stolen kisses and comforts her. She sneaks out a bag and carries it around pressed to her nose until the sun comes up, after which she hides it by her map.

It isn't until the next morning that she realizes what the pencil and paper were for. Mitchell was hoping to receive another message.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	18. Taibhse

**Annie's Soldier**

**18. ****Taibhse**

Annie starts measuring time by the growth in the winter wheat and the size of the calves, wishing she'd had a chance in her life to live this close to the land. She's learned so much from the Mitchells that she wishes she could try farming herself. The suddenness of the end April and the start of May catches her by surprise.

Kitten Annie has become so big, and somewhat fat, that she can hardly be called a kitten anymore, though Mitchell still dotes on her with the same paternal affection. He has been so busy with chores and running errands and breaking in Jenny the new plow horse that he sleeps soundly each night, which is just fine with Annie after he has had so many nightmares.

The afternoons slowly warm and the calves become playful and bold. Annie loves watching them kick up their heels and scamper about. The neighbor's fields are likewise full of lambs who are much more daring and clumsy than the calves. When she knows she can't be noticed, the ghost enjoys meandering the flocks, letting the brave sheep approach and sniff her curiously. It's nice to be acknowledged.

Some lamb's wool is caught on a shrub and Annie keeps it to remind her that she isn't truly invisible. She hides it with her bag of tea and map of Ireland in the corner by Mitchell's bureau and is startled to find Kitten Annie watching from the doorway, swishing her tail. Annie sticks her tongue out at her.

At the end of the month, Mitchell and his father head into Tralee to look at a new plow. While his father is busy chatting with an old friend, Mitchell wanders off with Annie, drawn to the town square by the sounds of a lone accordion player.

A veteran with only one leg is the source of the sound, and he sits with a jar in front of him to collect tips as he plays. Mitchell watches him sadly for a moment before tossing some money into his jar with a tip of his hat.

A ribbon display sits in the center of the square, and Annie muses over how simple yet beautiful purchasing a silken strand of color could be. She peruses them with Mitchell and notices that the girl selling them, who looks to be barely fifteen, is watching him like a hawk.

"Looking for your lass?" she asks with a smile.

"My mam," Mitchell says, his eyes on a lavender strand.

"My mam loves that color, too," the girl says, twisting her hands in her apron.

"You're a convincing salesgirl," Mitchell says with a smile before handing over some coins. The girl grins and takes the money before handing him his ribbon.

"_Taibhse_," croaks an old voice, and both Annie and Mitchell turn around to see a toothless old woman peering at him from under a headscarf. (_Ghost_)

Mitchell furrows his brows, for her word was difficult to make out. "I'm sorry?"

The salesgirl looks nervously between the old woman and Mitchell. "Don't bother him, Gran."

"_Taibhse_," the woman repeats, and to Annie's surprise and trepidation, points a bony finger right at her.

"Ghost?" Mitchell quietly asks.

Annie's eyes go wide and she steps slightly behind Mitchell, resting her hands on his arm as she peeks out.

The salesgirl grabs her grandmother's hand and gently lowers it, muttering that it's rude to point, but her grey eyes are still latched onto Annie. Mitchell follows the old woman's gaze to the empty patch of air beside him before shooting a questioning look at the salesgirl.

"Johnny!" Malachy calls, waving to get his son's attention. "Time to go!"

"Right!" Mitchell calls back then returns his gaze to the old woman as she mumbles something nearly indiscernible with her toothless slur. Annie tucks her sweater to her chest, for she feels naked under the woman's gaze.

"She…" the salesgirl begins nervously. "She says you walk with the dead beside you."

The roar of the approaching train momentarily grabs his attention, but his eyes are wide and alert as he studies the old lady. "What do they want?" he says quietly

The old woman shifts her eyes to his for the first time, and the grey irises seem to ripple like water from her age.

"Johnny!" Malachy bellows as the train slows at the stop in the distance.

The old woman smiles and holds her hands out. Mitchell hastily places his in hers and she runs her thumbs over the backs of his hands, quietly muttering something before touching her forehead to his knuckles and releasing him.

"She said… 'You know what she wants,'" the girl repeats, sounding confused.

"So I heard…"

"I'll tan your hide, lad!" Malachy screams from the nearly empty train station, snapping Mitchell out of his rapt state.

"Right." He tips his hat to the two ladies. "Thanks!"

He jogs off to the station, leaving Annie to stare at the old woman a few more seconds before popping to his side.

His father reads the paper in the seat beside him, but Mitchell merely glances at the headlines about shootings and assaults on police, his mind clearly elsewhere. Annie sits down in the aisle, just as lost in her thoughts. The old woman was clearly some sort of medium, and as much as the encounter had startled her, she now regretted not trying to give Mitchell a message when she had the chance.

Looking up at him, she knows that he's even more confused than she is, and probably a little frightened. After all, who wants to be told that they're being followed by the dead?

That night, he repeats her words aloud when he's alone in his room. "You know what she wants…" He arches a brow, scanning his surroundings in the lamplight. "So you _are_ a she?"

Annie leans her back against the window, watching him with wide eyes. She ought to be thrilled over her soldier's piqued interest in her, but she can feel his tension and doesn't want to be responsible for frightening him back into shell shock.

"Are you here now?" he asks quietly.

Annie closes her eyes and bites her lip, tempted to knock over his fishing pole in response but keeping her hands to herself.

After a moment he shakes his head and rubs his eyes with a sigh. "Johnny, you've gone daft," he mutters to himself before flopping onto his side. The note Annie left him in Cork flutters out from under his pillow of its own accord and he stares at it without budging, his eyes widening.

_I am always with you_.

He smiles, taking it as a sign, and Annie relaxes. Maybe he's strong enough to handle this now. But even so…

"We'll have to take this slow," she says quietly as she approaches him and eases down to sit on the edge of his bed beside him. He picks up the slip of paper and she runs her fingers through his curls. "I'd try to explain it to you but I don't understand it myself."

He hums the opening bars of "If You Were the Only (Girl in the World)," making her smile.

"That's right. That's our song."

Sighing, he quiets and drifts off to sleep, his fingers growing limp around her note.

The next day, he heads into town and visits the library. Annie grins when he checks out a book about contacting the spirit world, but he seems to think his parents would be less keen on the idea for he hides it under his bed when he returns home.

It's nearly a week before he has the time to even read a chapter, and even then, he falls asleep.

Annie sighs, twisting her mouth as she watches him slumber. "Lucky for you, patience has become my strong suit now that I'm dead." She tucks him in and doesn't let Kitten Annie in, even when she yowls outside his bedroom door.

When his parents ready for church on Sunday, Mitchell keeps quiet for most of the morning then mutters that he's not up to it. Annie frowns, inspecting his face for any signs of illness as his mother feels his forehead.

"I think I'd rather have a lie down," he says with a yawn that Annie realizes is fake. Relief floods her, closely followed by suspicion.

"What're you up to, mister?" she asks.

"Send my regards along," he tells his mother and the pair head off, leaving him home alone. He watches from the kitchen window and once he's sure he's alone, he dashes into his bedroom and pulls out the spirit book.

Annie watches him with amusement as he opens to a page he has marked with a sketch of a ceremonial circle. Bustling around the house, he raids the pantry and returns to his bedroom with a handful of candles and a carton of salt. He snags his shaving mirror off the bureau and after consulting the diagram, arranges the candles in a circle around him.

He reads from the book again then scowls. "What a waste."

As he sets the salt aside, Annie peers at the drawing and sees that he has opted out of the salt circle around the candles. Given that salt is likely a more precious commodity in 1919 than where she comes from, she can't blame him.

He drags his pillow off the bed then sets it on the floor and props his mirror up against it so that it's facing him. Fumbling with the matches, he lights all twelve candles around him then consults the book again.

Settling down on his knees, he closes his eyes and takes several deep, steady breaths before opening them. Hunkering down, he gazes into the mirror and whispers "If anyone is here, show yourself in the mirror." He furrows his brow and grabs his book again. "Really? It rhymes?"

"You know," Annie says, "I do have some experience conducting 'ceremonies.' They don't always have to sound… authentic."

He bites his lip then gazes into the dingy mirror again. "If anyone is here," he repeats, "show yourself in the mirror."

Annie drapes herself on his back, resting her chin on his scarred shoulder as she peers into the small piece of glass. She can see her unimpressed face beside his, but her soldier doesn't seem to be able to see anything. After several minutes, he gets fidgety, especially when his eyes keep watering. Grabbing the book again, he re-reads the ceremony instructions before hunkering down once more.

"_Appear_," he whispers.

"I'm trying," Annie whispers back. Eying the nearness of his head, she straightens and places her hands on either side of his temples then closes her eyes, willing him to feel her presence more acutely. He grows still and when she peeks, he is staring into the mirror with a narrowed gaze. Furrowing his brow, he slowly leans forward, inspecting the reflection more closely.

His body tenses as his eyes linger where Annie ought to be. The air around them seems to crackle and she grins, thinking_ this is it_!

Then Mitchell yelps as something fluffy drags across his bare arm. His yelp makes Annie scream and sends Kitten Annie, who had sauntered into the room without either of them noticing, running, knocking over half the candles as she goes.

Growling, Mitchell blows them all out then stalks back to the pantry. His mother can't understand what he could've been up to while they were gone when she finds him chipping cooled candlewax off his floorboards upon their return.

"You know hair is perfectly natural on a man," she says slowly from the doorway.

Mitchell merely grunts as he pries at the stuff and Annie does a double-take when she realizes his mother is worried he was waxing. The older woman shakes her head with a _to each his own_ expression before walking back into the main room.

Annie slips out to find Kitten Annie cleaning her face on the doorstep. "You've _really_ done it now," she warns. "I sure hope you have nine lives because you're going to need _all_ of them."

The cat hisses at her then bolts, making Malachy peek his head out the door and peer around. Annie's eyes go wide and she freezes under his suspicious gaze. "Damned cat is as touched as your uncle Billy," he mutters before shutting the door.

Mitchell is busy with chores again for weeks, and the free time that he has he spends fishing and dozing in the sun as the days warm into summer. Annie is sorely tempted to leave him another note but has decided to let him set the pace from now on. After all, the last thing he needs is to be committed for claiming a dead girl left him a letter.

While tidying up his room in July, he rediscovers the library book in its hiding spot under the bed. "Ooops…"

He leans back, flipping through its pages once more when his mother calls his name, entering the house. Scrambling to stash the book somewhere she won't see as her footfalls approach, he tosses it in the corner by his bureau.

"Johnny?"

"Yes?" He clasps his hands behind his back and nearly stands at attention, making Annie laugh over how guilty he looks.

"It's not like it's porn," Annie scoffs.

His mother pays his odd stance little heed. "I said bring me your sheets, the water's hot."

He nods and gathers up his bedding before taking it out to the wash tub. Annie shakes her head, chuckling, before leaning over to peer at where the book had fallen, only to realize it had landed on her pile of treasures. The laugh darts from her voice. "Oh, shit."

Shooting a panicked look through the doorway to gauge her soldier's distance, she wrings her hands and looks back at the book. If she moves it, he'll notice it's not where it landed. But if she doesn't…

She's leaning over with her backside high in the air, trying to collect all of her things when Mitchell treads back into the room. Closing her eyes, she lets the teabag fall and recoils her hand, looking at him over her shoulder with tousled hair. "Hi, honey. Can I fix you something for dinner?"

Mitchell hums to himself as he straightens his mattress, then seems to remember the book and peers in the corner. It's half-wedged behind the bureau, so he scoots it aside, furrowing his brow when the book tips over, along with a map of his country, ball of sheep's fluff, and bag of tea. Gathering the objects up, he tucks the book under his arm while turning them over in his hand.

"Hey, Mam?"

"Oh dear…" Annie says, blanching a little as she presses her fingers to her forehead. "I can explain…"

Una strides in, looking frazzled, her hair a mess from the laundry. "What is it?"

He holds the objects out to her. "Did you put this tea in here?"

She flicks her eyes to the small sack then glances at him. "Why would I do that?"

"I dunno, I thought it might've been some sort of housekeeping technique."

Both women fix him with screwy looks.

"And how do you figure that?"

"Like potpourri."

His mother fixes him with an impatient, patronizing look.

"Well I found it stashed under my bureau, what am I supposed to think?" he snips defensively.

"Must've been a mouse."

"Nah – Annie sleeps with me."

Annie snorts and laughs at the same time. "I mean, I _wish_…"

His mother arches a brow. "You and I both know that cat is rubbish at mousing."

She bustles from the room and Mitchell looks along the walls of his room for mouse droppings but finds none.

"She's just fine at it," he grumbles before setting the objects down on his bureau. He seems to recognize the map and Annie bites her lip as she watches him tug out the old book and find the torn page. The ball of lamb's wool he is more confused by and actually scratches his head as he looks at it.

Then a peculiar expression settles in his eyes and spreads across his features, leaving him a little pale as he sets the things down as if they're cursed then steps away, looking around the room. He stands stock-still and silent for some time before arching a brow and speaking to the corner. "So you like maps, do you?"

Annie can't help but laugh, because she's nowhere near the corner.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	19. I'm Not Frightened

**Annie's Soldier**

**19. I'm Not Frightened**

Summer arrives and kisses Mitchell's skin with hues of brown. He strips off his shirt on the hot afternoons of the harvest, and Annie finds the weight and muscle he's put on over the winter to be ridiculously alluring. She sits on the fence all day, staring dreamily at his torso as he and his father work as a team, occasionally with Una's help, as they reap the winter wheat.

At the end of a day, he trudges over to the barn and fills a bucket with water before dousing himself. He pours it on his head, and as it sides down his body, it catches in his waistline, making his trousers sag down to his hips.

"Oh. My. God." Annie has never been more thankful for not needing to blink. She traces every rivulet down his bronzed arms, chest and abdomen and is fantasizing about licking it all off before she is even aware of her mind wandering.

Shaking her head, she sighs longingly.

A heat spell makes him sleep shirtless without covers, which means she stares at him half naked all night. Sometimes she feels like a dirty old lady, but she doesn't have much to fill her time with while he sleeps other than imagine what she would do to him if she could.

"And I thought I had it bad when you were a vampire," she says dreamily one July afternoon when Mitchell labors, covered in sweat as he replaces a fencepost on the cattle pen. "At least back then you could feel me. I mean, there were times I wanted to take things _much_ further. Even without a body. But you were always so… so…."

She furrows her brow, remembering Mitchell in the last few weeks of his life. She understood why intimacy had become soiled for him after using it as a prelude to murder so often, but aside from the guilt and the bloodlust there was often something so terribly human in his eyes when they were alone.

"Shy," she finishes with surprise. "You were _shy_. Like you are now. Because God knows how many women you were with, but only a handful of them counted."

He winces as he cuts his thumb then sticks it in his mouth, pressing his tongue to the wound until it stops bleeding. The sight of crimson tainting his lips reminds her that this is the same body of the man who was a mass murderer in another life. Same face, same eyes, same hair. And yet something prevented her from equating the two.

She realizes that her memory of the vampire has faded. Or rather, his bruise on her memory. They had loved each other but it was too little too late, and there were parts of his being that she could accept but would never understand. He was tortured and imprisoned by his own guilt and identity. His curse. She can still recall every brush of his lips and touch of his fingers, but he is faded.

A smirk graces her lips when she realizes she ought to clinging to those memories of touch and desire, but here she is, willingly letting their colors turn dingy in the face of the vibrant young man in front of her who has taken up residence in her heart and mind with so much vivid color.

The Mitchell she knew was only a shadow of this man, yet this is the man she wanted all along. This was the man she loved.

And she would take him any day, even if he could never touch her.

July 29th is his birthday, and his mother bakes him a cake and invites over Ms. Hannigan. They sing and laugh and carry on in Irish, inadvertently leaving their resident ghost out of the festivities. But her soldier is smiling and it lights up the room, and that's all she can ask for as she smiles with him.

"You've built a throne in my heart," she says quietly as he lies on his side facing the wall, drifting to sleep in the early hours of the morning with Kitten Annie curled at his feet. She runs her fingers through his hair, for even if he can't feel it, she can. "I ought to be all modern woman, saying that men aren't everything and to focus on our careers… but I don't think I've ever loved something more than I love you." She leans down and kisses his cheek. "You're the best person I've ever known, and I am proud to be at your side."

He cracks open his eyes and takes a deep breath before rolling onto his back where he would be looking up at her if he could. "_Taibhse_?" he whispers, and Annie stiffens as she recognizes the word as the same one the old woman had called her. _Ghost_.

His eyes wander as he listens to the sounds around him, but his expression is relaxed and open.

Annie leans over him. "Yes?"

He scrambles to sit up, surprising Annie so much that she nearly falls off the bed. His eyes are wild and nearly black in the moonlight.

"I heard that," he says, a small smile creeping onto his lips as she scans the darkness.

Annie covers her mouth and stares at him in shock. "You did?"

"Don't be frightened," he says to the darkness, then lowers his voice to a whisper. "I'm not frightened. Not this time."

Annie slowly removes her hands from her mouth and scoots closer. "Johnny, can you still hear me?"

His brows twitch together, as if straining to hear something in the distance, and she feels her hope dim at his lack of response. She says his name a few more times but the disappointment soon shows on his face, as well.

Eager to try something else, she places her hand on his bare arm and gives it a squeeze. He delights her by darting his eyes down to his forearm where her hand rests. She slowly runs her hand up his arm, and his breathing quickens with his widened eyes as her touch leaves a trail of goosebumps. She stops at his shoulder then leans forward and kisses the scar that Clara had found so ugly.

He briefly closes his eyes then runs his hand along his own arm, mimicking her path until it rests upon hers. The longing in his eyes as he stares where their hands ought to be is mixing with the joy of the moment and making Annie cry.

"I wish you could hear me all the time," she says, her voice breaking. "I would say such wonderful things to you."

"Who are you?" he whispers, and when he turns back out to face the darkness, his lower lip is trembling.

"I'm Annie," she says. "Your Annie."

"Because…" he begins, his chest heaving, "I think it was you who hid those things. I've heard your voice and felt your…" He swallows hard, his eyes shimmering in the moonlight. "I know you've helped me," he whispers. "Protected me. I shouldn't have walked away from the war alive, but I did."

Annie nods with a smile, moving her hand to rest on his cheek.

His eyes snap shut, as if he immediately notices the shift in contact and he takes a few breaths before he opens them again. "I can feel you," he whispers, and tears escape when he blinks. "Cold and tingling but… not scary. You're not scary."

"No, sweetheart."

His brows nearly touch and his voice quivers. "Why can't I see you?"

"You're just a human," she whines. "They were able to see me once but now… now I don't even know what I am."

He swallows hard. "If there's any way you can talk to me – any way – then you must tell me who you are. I have to know. I have to know why I feel this…"

His eyes drift, unfocusing slightly as he hunts for the right word.

"_You_," he finishes. "It's so familiar and yet…" He grasps at his cheek, fear pooling in his eyes, as if he can no longer feel her even though her hand is still there. "No, please, don't go. I'm sorry if I've frightened you."

"Baby, I'm right here," she says, cupping both of his cheeks and pressing their foreheads together.

"_Please_…" he whispers, closing his eyes, and Annie lets out a sob as she realizes their connection is lost.

He slumps back onto his pillows, looking miserable for a few minutes before wiping off his cheeks.

"I tried," she says brokenly before kissing his forehead. "I won't give up."

Though Annie hums and rubs his back, he doesn't fall asleep until it is nearly dawn.

He's quiet the next day, and Annie knows his mother is worried about his haggard appearance and most likely suspects his nightmares are back. He writes a note that night that says "Who are you?" then sets it on the floor with a pencil, hoping she will answer.

Annie stares at it all night but in the end, doesn't answer. Because the answer will just make him – or worse – his parents, think he's insane.

She suspects that their connection was nearly tangible to him because of the lateness of the hour. While she feels no change at two or three in the morning, she senses that something shifts in Mitchell, making him more susceptible to her voice and touch. Given that he is almost always asleep at her witching hour, she isn't able to test her theory.

When three nights pass without receiving a response to his written question, he tears the piece of paper in half and stares at the blank page for a few minutes. After a while, he writes something down then folds it several times before placing it on the floor as a lure.

Annie narrows her eyes at him. "You tease."

When she is certain that he is fast asleep, she creeps over and takes the bait. Unfolding the paper, she reads his handwriting: _I belong to your mysteries_.

Smiling, she presses her fingers to her lips and wanders the room all night, reading the note over and over. When the sun starts to rise, she returns it to the center of the floor but doesn't bother re-folding it. Mitchell wakes up with a grin when he sees that it has been read.

He practically skips out of the house to milk the cows.

A few days later finds the two on the train headed for Tralee. Mitchell has told his mother that he's going to pick up a part so that the plow harness will fit Jenny, but both women know that's a lie. His mother didn't protest and gave him a kiss on the cheek before sending him on his way.

The people around them on the train are discussing the latest shootings – an assassination of a detective ordered by none other than Michael Collins – but while Mitchell keeps an ear trained on the conversation, the news of the escalating violence doesn't seem to disturb him much. Annie smiles and pats his hand. "You're solid indeed."

Once in town, Annie follows her soldier as he makes a beeline for the center, only to slow once he finds it empty. "Damnit," he curses under his breath.

"Oh no…" Annie breathes. "You came to speak to that old woman again, didn't you?"

Sighing, he takes off his hat to rake a hand through his hair before replacing it. After considering his situation for a few minutes, he heads over to a grocer and asks if they knew who the granny who helped sell ribbons was. The grocer doesn't know but directs him to the bank, and a teller then directs him to the church.

He takes his hat off as he enters the building and crosses himself with holy water, which makes Annie scrutinize him, for she's never once heard a prayer escape his lips. Quelling his impatience, he takes a seat in one of the front pews and tries to keep his leg from shaking while he waits for a member of the clergy to make an appearance. Annie wanders the aisles, marveling at the stained glass windows depicting Saint Patrick and Saint Brigit.

"Sister," Mitchell greets a nun as she begins placing pamphlets in the pews.

She turns to him with a smile. "Can I help you, son?"

Mitchell nods. "I've a question about one of your parishioners. You see, I met a girl last time I was here. She was selling ribbons and –"

"I'm sure you did, lad, but it's not the practice of the church to hand out addresses of pretty young things. You should've asked her yourself."

Annie raises her brows at the sassy nun and Mitchell is momentarily taken aback. "It's not like that," he insists. "It's her gran."

The nun fixes him with a quizzical stare, pausing in laying the pamphlets.

"No," Mitchell repeats, his voice low. "It's not like _that_, either. She was very old and only spoke Irish. She said that I –" He hesitates, studying the woman's lined face, as if worrying what she'd do to his ghost. "Dropped something. A pocket watch from my grandda. I'd like to have it returned."

The nun sighs. "I'll go and fetch Father O'Brien. Wait here."

Mitchell smiles, even as she hands him the stack of pamphlets and bustles out.

Annie arches a brow then whispers "Good call," in his ear.

Not knowing what else to do, Mitchell finishes the nun's job of laying out the pamphlets and is nearly finished by the time she returns. She gives him an approving, if surprised, look. "This is Father O'Brien. He'll sort you out."

"_Go raibh maith agat_." Mitchell reaches out and shakes the priest's hand. "Johnny Mitchell." (_Thank you_)

"Sister Maire says you're looking for one of my parishioners?"

"I am."

The priest cocks his head, scrutinizing him. "I do not know your face, my son."

"I'm from Dingle."

"I see," the father says with a small light flickering in his eyes.

Annie feels something akin to a shiver at the man's expression and is at a loss as to why until she remembers a smiling lad with large brown eyes. "Mitchell… Shorty was from Tralee. This is his church."

Her soldier's polite expression dims a little as either her words snake into his head or he has the same realization.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, my son. I know of the old woman you describe. She and her granddaughter are Tinkers. They pass through here every few months but there's no telling when they'll be back. I'm sure you understand that we try to… _discourage_ their business."

"I see." Mitchell can't hide his crestfallen face.

"Tinkers are like gypsies, aren't they?" Annie asks.

"We'll be holding mass at five, if you care to join us." He smiles warmly, but that eerie light still flickers in the backs of his eyes.

Mitchell slowly curls in the fingers the other man had touched in handshake then lets his eyes drift to the priest's hands, which are folded over his chest above a cross. "You have soft hands," Mitchell says lowly before dragging his eyes back up to the man's face.

Annie tenses. Her soldier's expression is muted, but she knows the look well from his alternate life. It's the look of one showing great restraint when all he wants to do is attack like a wild animal.

The priest appears perplexed then chuckles a little. "Thank you for noticing. I try to wear gloves whenever I'm gardening."

Mitchell smiles a little but never takes his eyes off the man's face, and if he were still a vampire, Annie would know he was about to go in for the strike. "I was in the army, you know."

"Were you?"

"I served with a fella from round about here. Sully something. Do you remember him?"

The priest purses his lips in a blip of thought and Annie narrows her eyes at him. "Can't say that I do."

"He was about this tall," Mitchell holds his hand up to Shorty's height. "Brown eyes and hair, and had these funny full lips he must've got from his mam."

Recognition makes the eerie light in the priest's eyes shift into little flames. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"You perverted liar," Annie hisses, wishing, for the first time, that her soldier was a vampire just so he could make him piss his pants before tearing his throat out.

"That's a shame," Mitchell says. "He always talked about home. You know… stories from childhood. I thought he'd mentioned you in one."

The priest chuckles then glances behind him at nothing before meeting Mitchell's gaze again. "Must've been somewhere else."

"Yeah," Mitchell says, his voice sweet. "Must've been. All the same, I'm glad to have met you, Father."

Relief makes the older man's shoulders sag. "And you. May God protect you." He crosses himself and Mitchell follows suit before heading for the door.

"Oh, and Father?" Mitchell says as he reaches the doorway. The priest turns to look at him. "Shorty was killed, but I know he's up in heaven. So you'll never be able to touch him again, because you'll be hell."

With a wink, Mitchell dons his hat and steps outside. Annie lets out a triumphant guffaw at the older man's look of muted horror then pops back to Mitchell's side just in time to hear him bellow to get out of his church.

Mitchell keeps walking, but his hands are shaking so bad that he has to stuff them in his pockets. Annie knows he wanted to do so much more to the pervert. "You're a better man than him," she says, resting a hand on his back.

* * *

_**Please share your thoughts!  
P.S.  
This doesn't have much to do with anything, but as a Yank, I haven't seen Season 5 yet. Just FYI!  
**_


	20. Lord Mesmer

_**Annie Lazarus asked where the line "I belong to your mysteries" that Mitchell writes as a note to Annie came from. I was inspired by a similar line in the Delta Rae song "Dance in the Graveyards." I'll post it on my tumblr. Enjoy! :)**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**20. Lord Mesmer**

After his failed attempt to locate the old Tinker, Mitchell starts scouring the papers. He cuts out an advertisement for a medium who will be hosting séances in Cork for the month of August. The fervent way he studies the ad makes something sticky settle inside her.

When Felix invites him to visit to meet the baby at the end of the month, it's all the excuse he needs. He studies a map on the train ride to Cork, marking the theater being rented by the medium. Annie smiles as he does so then rests her hand on his, wishing they could try talking at three in the morning again instead of involving other people. Sharing their secret felt oddly… invasive. Especially when all Mitchell had to go on were his own feelings.

They can hear the baby wailing even before Mitchell knocks on the door to Felix's flat. He pauses with his hand in the air, listening to the goings ons with a smile. Two males are arguing like siblings, though neither is Felix, and Penny is hissing at them to stuff it. Letting out a soft chuckle, he knocks on the door.

"Yes?" Felix snaps as he hauls it open. His face splits into a grin when he recognizes his friend. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, did you wait long enough or what?"

"Try lifting a finger yourself one day and you'll understand what hard work means," Mitchell quips back.

Felix chuckles and slings an arm around him, guiding him in. "Hey, Danny! Look who's here."

Danny glances over from where he's fighting over a photograph with another boy who looks like a fairer haired, softer version of him.

"Rory," Felix calls, catching the dirty blonde's attention. "This here is Johnny. Johnny, meet Rory, one of the piglets."

"Hey, don't call me that in front of company," Rory hisses to his oldest brother, only to have Danny snatch the photo from his hands when he's not looking.

"Johnny doesn't count as company – hey, give that back to your brother!"

Rory hides the photo behind him, his floppy hair mussed. "Why?"

"Because I said," Felix demands as he charges him and winds up wrestling him even more than Danny had. For his part, Danny eggs the eldest on.

"It's like a locker room in here," Annie says with a laugh.

"Jesus, you'll break the sofa," Penny scolds as she enters the room, carrying a wiggling pile of blankets. She faces Mitchell with a priceless expression. "Hello, Johnny. Welcome to our corner of Hell."

Mitchell and Annie raise their brows and laugh as Felix squawks triumphantly, leaping into the air and holding the photo aloft, his trousers nearly falling down as Rory yanks on a suspender strap.

A half hour later, after the boys have been kicked out of the house and the baby has been changed, Penny hands him over to Mitchell. "No, no, no," the veteran protests, even as the red-head tucks her son into his arms. He latches onto her with wide eyes. "What if I –"

"You won't."

Annie grins at the baby and her soldier as he stiffens with the sleeping infant in his arms.

"Sean, meet your uncle Johnny."

He grins down at the pink baby as he sighs in his sleep. Felix watches him with a proud expression. "We have a bet on if he'll be a ginger or a blonde."

"He's so light," Mitchell says with wonder. "Do you ever forget he's there when you're holding him?"

"No," Penny says with a laugh. "When you have one of your own, you'll see. Once you hear his first cry, there is no forgetting. Not in a thousand years."

Mitchell shares a small smile with her then turns it onto the child, relaxing as he gazes down at him.

Annie cocks her head, watching him with her own whimsical expression, remembering how he adored the ghost baby in their other life. A strange tug pulls on her at the sight of him fitting so perfectly with the child, and she bats it away, for she had Eve, and this is no place for could-have-beens.

The following day finds Annie and her soldier at a run-down theater that looks like it should've been condemned in the last century. Mitchell is seated around a table with ten or so strangers, awaiting the arrival of the alleged medium. Annie waits behind his chair, watching the doorway with him, for she'll know within seconds if the man is a hoax or not.

At length, the door opens and a man in tails enters, his expression kind and grave behind his mustache. "Greetings, and welcome to you all. I am Edward Curry, or as the spirits have named me, Lord Mesmer." He bows slightly before his paying customers and Annie sneers when she hears his English accent then feels awkward when she remembers that she is also English.

"It's wonderful," she says, testing his ears. "That you can earn a living at this."

He continues in his stride towards the head of the table and Annie arches a brow. _Fraud_.

Introductions are exchanged, and each participant shares a little about who they are wishing to contact. Nearly all are dead relations, and Mitchell shifts uncomfortably when soldier after soldier is named. A few of the grieving parents dart him looks, as if reading military in his straight back and hoping he'll lure out their dead young. Mitchell preoccupies himself by pulling out Annie's note and studying it.

"Quit giving him information," Annie hisses at the crowd. "You're making the job so much easier for him, don't you see?"

"And you?" Lord Mesmer asks Mitchell when it's his turn, all the faces turning to him. "Searching to contact a parent or friend who has passed over, perhaps?"

Mitchell licks his lips and tucks the note away. Annie watches him intently, just as curious as everyone else as to how he's going to phrase his answer.

"No…" He says quietly. "It's a lass."

"Ah. I sensed as much. You have an air of longing about you. She was your lover, was she not?"

One of the older women present shifts uncomfortably at the brazen question and Mitchell's eyes dart to her before settling back on Lord Mesmer. He hesitates a few seconds more then nods, and Annie unfolds her arms from her chest.

"How could you know that?" she whispers to her soldier.

"Time for us to dim the lights and thin the veil between this world and the next. Ladies and gentlemen, we shall begin," Lord Mesmer sings as his assistant darkens the room.

Annie rests her hand on Mitchell's shoulder, watching his dark eyes in the dim light with a growing sense of unease. If Mitchell had a memory, no matter how distant, of his ghost as his lover, then could it be possible that she hadn't been sent back in time, after all? Or rather… that they both had? The last clear memory she possesses is walking through the door with Eve after destroying the Old Ones. Everything after that is a blur of light and laughter and George cooing at his child.

But no Mitchell. Because what if he had been sling-shot back in time with her? What if a deeply buried part of him holds his memories of his alternate life?

The prospect makes her fidget, for as much as she wants him to know who she is, she doesn't want him to face the darkness and death of his alternate life.

The participants all hold hands and hum a melody Lord Mesmer seems to be making up as he goes along after explaining something about vibrations attracting souls or some other trickery. After a few minutes, they all grow quiet and bow their heads.

"Is anyone there?" Lord Mesmer asks. "If so, please come forth and ring the bell."

If Annie weren't so thrown off by her musings, she'd march over and ring it just to frighten him. Instead, the minutes tick past as Lord Mesmer asks again and again for any spirits with messages to come forward. Annie shifts her hand to Mitchell's neck and can feel his heart racing.

The bell rings, startling them all, and a young woman in the crowd shrieks, arching her entire body.

"What's wrong with her?" the man at her side asks.

"It's perfectly all right," Lord Mesmer soothes. "A spirit is coming forth. My dear, can you hear me?"

Annie steps behind Mitchell with trepidation as the woman's chin falls forward onto her chest, shaking some of her hair loose from her Gibson bun. "Yes," she replies in a voice much higher than the one she had spoken in to tell her story.

Mitchell swallows hard.

"Please tell us who you are, spirit."

Mitchell's eyes dart from Lord Mesmer to the young woman as each speaks.

"Sarah," she says, and the room gasps.

"That was the name of her dead sister," one of the participants mutters to the person beside her.

Lord Mesmer has to take a moment to quiet the room. "It's all right. It's all right. Sarah… how old are, you Sarah?"

"Seven."

Lord Mesmer smiles and Annie narrows her eyes. "Don't fall for it, Johnny," she whispers in her soldier's ear. "She must be acting. Or hypnotized."

"How did you die?"

"A horse kicked me."

One of the women gasps in a repressed sob and the slightly irritated look on Mitchell's face comforts Annie, for he seems fully aware that he is in the midst of a suggestible bunch.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Sarah. Are you in pain?"

"No, not anymore. I am with my Lord and Savior."

Lord Mesmer smiles as several issue sounds of relief. "That is wonderful. Do you have a message for us, Sarah?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"That I'm safe. Don't cry for me anymore, Briana."

"Thank you, Sarah. You may go now."

The young woman smiles shyly, like a child. "Goodbye." Her chin drops back to her chest and when the young woman, Briana, lifts her head and notices all the eyes on her, she stiffens. "What happened?"

"You have no memory?" Lord Mesmer asks.

Frightened, she shakes her head no.

He smiles. "You were a medium for your sister, Sarah. She wants you to know that she is in Heaven now and doesn't wish for you to grieve anymore."

Briana's lower lip trembles and she stiffly nods.

"Wait, wait… Oh my…" Lord Mesmer says, closing his eyes. "I am receiving a message…" He tilts his head this way and that, screwing up his face. "It's difficult to make out but… Johnny. There is a Johnny in the room, is there not?"

Mitchell goes rigid as several faces turn to him. Annie grabs onto his shoulders. "…Yes," he quietly answers.

"I'm seeing someone… a female… a… young woman."

Mitchell's eyes are wide as he swallows stiffly.

"She is…" He smiles. "Lovely. And she has a message for you."

Annie arches a brow. "I do, do I?"

"She gave you… something… it's a note, isn't it?"

"Yes," Mitchell whispers.

"What?" Annie leers at Lord Mesmer. "How could you know that?"

"She is glad that you've kept it."

Mitchell nods and Annie is now as stiff as he is.

"But… there is something else…"

"Who is she?" Mitchell asks.

"No… no… no questions, you're frightening her off."

"Are _not_," Annie hisses as Mitchell hunches a little.

"Wait, she's back. She wants you to know… that you had a chance encounter. She was supposed to have loved you in this world, but death claimed her before her time. But even your brief time together was enough to make her love you."

Mitchell looks just as confused as Annie and she narrows her eyes then remembers how Mitchell was looking at her note when Lord Mesmer asked him to share his story, and how he had watched him tuck it away.

"That clever charlatan," she hisses in his ear. "He saw you with the note and is making all of this up to try to cover a situation where a girl could've given you that without you knowing who she was."

Lord Mesmer opens his eyes and blinks dramatically, as if to clear them. "Did that make some sense for you, I hope?'

Mitchell hesitantly nods, looking away, though it's clear to Annie that he is wracking his brain for any lass he could've ever met so briefly and made such an impact on. After all, the last six years had been spent nearly solely in the company of other men in the trenches and cloistered away at the farm.

The séance continues, and while Mitchell keeps his hands linked with the others', his mind is elsewhere. Annie crawls under the table at one point and finds a thread leading from the spirit bell to Lord Mesmer's seat.

"Gotcha," she says with narrowed eyes. "Let's see how you handle a _real_ spirit."

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," Lord Mesmer says after having achieved some form of "communication" for everyone at the table. "This has been very taxing but most fruitful. I hope you all have –" He cuts himself off when the Annie flicks the spirit bell, making it jingle slightly. He shoots it a glance then continues. "I hope you all have found some measure of –"

Annie shakes it, rattling the bell so suddenly that the crowd gasps. Lord Mesmer looks just as surprised as the rest of them as Annie forces him to play along with his own charade.

"Well, it seems we have one last visitor," he says with a chuckle. "Who is there?"

No one takes the bait and Annie rattles the bell violently before sending it flying across the room. The audience screams, including Lord Mesmer.

Satisfied by the fear on the fraud's face, Annie folds her arms then heads back to Mitchell's side. She does a double-take when she sees how frightened he looks and realizes she should've thought of him before she pulled the stunt.

Lord Mesmer concludes the séance shortly after, and as the people file out of the room, Mitchell looks pale and shaken. "I hope you don't believe any of that," she says to him as they walk to Felix's flat in the dark. "He was making it all up."

Felix and his brothers meet him at the door and take him out for a night at the pub. A few drinks in and Mitchell has combed his hand through his hair so many times that it's now sticking out in every direction.

"Felix… you and I, we were almost _always_ together in the trenches, right?" he asks as a handful of musicians play in the corner.

"Yeah, I'd say so. Why?" Felix says, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Do you ever remember meeting any girls there – no matter how brief?"

Felix chuckles. "No, and trust me, I'd remember if we had."

"I mean, I know we walked by locals and stuff on marches, but I literally have no memory of ever talking to a one of them."

"That's because they didn't speak English."

Mitchell nods then glances over at Danny and Rory as they lead a chorus of cheers as they egg on two dart players. Annie sits quietly in the corner, watching Mitchell and waiting for him to realize just how much of a fraud Lord Mesmer was. Then again, she could've made things easier by not throwing the bell across the room.

"Why do you ask?"

Mitchell shrugs then takes a sip of his third beer. "Just trying to remember someone, that's all."

Felix narrows his eyes. "But who?'

"That's just it. I've no feckin' idea." He finishes his drink then orders another, and the sticky sensation inside Annie grows heavier.

Her soldier is so drunk by the end of the night that he can hardly walk, which seems to be giving Felix no end of delight.

Mitchell stumbles outside and has to hold onto a lamppost to catch himself from falling into the street as a buggy passes. "Oh shite," he says with a laugh.

Felix nearly doubles over beside him with his own laughter. "You are so _plastered_."

The comment sends her soldier into a fit of hysterics and he and Felix have to hold onto each other to keep from collapsing. Annie watches from the street, letting the occasional car or horse-drawn carriage drive through her, ready to shove her charge back onto the sidewalk if needs be. "I fail to see how this is amusing," she says.

Danny and Rory exit the pub and Rory's arm is around a girl. "Hey fellas, this is Caitlin. Say hello."

"Oh brother," Annie says at the way Caitlin is clinging to his jacket.

"Hiya, Caitlin," Mitchell says, straightening with effort. "Johnny."

"And Felix."

"At your service."

Danny laughs at the scandalized expression on his younger brother's face. "Hey, watch it," Rory snaps. "She's my lass. I'm the one walking her home."

"This is what I don't miss," Annie says, keeping to the street as the lads begin down the sidewalk. "Drunken twenty-somethings."

She sticks with Felix and Mitchell, for they are leading the way, though they don't seem to be aware of where they're going. After a few minutes they realize they're far ahead of the others and glance back to see Danny give them an exasperated flap of the arms before gesturing to Rory and Caitlin who are making out on the street corner.

"Jesus, have some decency," Felix barks.

"Ugh," Mitchell groans, rubbing his face. "I'm seeing double."

"'Cuz you're shlossed," Felix says, his nose inches from his friend's, launching them both into another fit of laughter. Mitchell has to hold out a hand to the wall to keep from toppling over.

"I keep thinking about this lass," he says between chuckles.

"If you say Clara," Annie threatens, "I'll trip you and no one here would suspect a thing."

"Yeah?" Felix asks, glancing back at his youngest brother who is still kissing Caitlin.

"It's just rotten luck."

"Why?"

"Because after today, I'm thinking the only way we'll be able to be together is in heaven."

Annie fades a little as an electric tram drives through her, shocked at his revelation.

Felix shakes his head. "Then you're cursed since we both know we're headed to hell in a handbasket."

"I went to this séance today," Mitchell continues. "She contacted me from the other side."

"Oh, Christ, you know those things are shams."

"_Thank you_," Annie snaps in agreement.

Mitchell shakes his head with a confident, if drunken, smile. "She isn't."

Felix's amused expression fades at the look on his friend's face and Annie can't help but smile at the strength of his heart. Her affection has come through loud and clear, and for the first time, she knows he returns it.

The moment is shattered by Rory letting out a triumphant whoop as Caitlin heads safely into her apartment and waves to him from the window. He skips along to catch up with the trio with another crow, making the three laugh.

"You're so drunk you don't know what you're saying," Felix says with a chuckle and a slap to Mitchell's back as Rory lets out another whoop.

"Pipe down, would you," Mitchell says with a chuckle.

Rory merely laughs and lets Danny ruffle his hair, his arm around his shoulders as they make their way back to the flat. Annie is thankful that there aren't nearly as many cars in Cork in 1919 as there would be in the present, or else she's sure Mitchell would've been struck by one.

Danny offers him the couch but he doesn't get much farther than the rug before passing out. Within minutes, the flat is full of drunken snores.

Annie paces the small apartment, peering out the windows now and then at the scant life still left on the street at this hour. The confidence in Mitchell's eyes as he spoke of her has warmed her heart, but even as she tries to cling to the feeling, that heavy sensation threatens to take it away.

In an attempt to sort herself out, she traces her thoughts back to the séance. So maybe Mitchell didn't remember his alternate life, after all. Maybe they weren't shot through time together. Only her. Which was preferable, now that she thinks about it. Because it gives her one less worry. She doesn't want him to remember vampirism.

Yet even that doesn't alleviate the heaviness growing inside.

The following morning, baby Sean seems to have his heart set on torturing the boys' pounding heads by crying at every opportunity.

Danny groans, rubbing his eye. "I'm never drinking again."

Mitchell sits holding his cup of coffee, staring miserably into the distance. "Me neither."

It takes nearly all day, but the lads recover. Penny is so upset by her husband's immature behavior that she doesn't speak to him for hours. Danny breaks his vow by heading out that night after a failed attempt to corral the others into coming with him.

Mitchell heads home the following day, once again studying Annie's note on the bus.

The heavy feeling grows as he once again skips church and tries to contact her with his own séance. He takes to watching the lanes in the distance and asking passerby that he meets if they've seen any Tinkers of late. The answer is always no, but the lack of substance only seems to fuel his confidence in Annie's existence.

One evening, after a day of fishing, he pauses at the top of a cliff after climbing up a steep path on his way home. His fishing pole is over one shoulder and the day's catch is in his other hand as he catches his breath in the wind, watching the setting sun. The oranges and yellows dance upon the ocean and Annie smiles, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek on his chest.

She can hear his heart slowing as he cools and she delights in the simple sound if its steady rhythm as the wind tousles her hair. While he has no way of knowing that she is there, a look of content spreads over his features and resides there for the rest of the night, even when his father gripes about all the chores he had to do while Mitchell was away.

The heavy feeling remains, and no matter how many times Annie tries to examine it, she can never see what it is. Until one afternoon in September when Mitchell stops a girl with a bicycle to ask her if she's seen any Travellers.

She shakes her head no but fixes him with a hopeful smile. Her hair is blonde and messy and her face is young and full of dreams as she takes in the man before her.

"I'm Fiona." She sticks out her hand but Mitchell's eyes are already scanning the horizon to see if anyone else is coming along.

By the time he notices, his voice is distracted as he gives her hand a shake. "Johnny."

"Is this your farm?" she asks.

"My da's."

"Well, I'm visiting my cousin just in the village. Maybe we could go for a walk after church on –"

"I'm busy," he says curtly before striding back towards the field.

Annie parts her lips in surprise at his rudeness and the startled expression on the girl's face.

"Have a nice visit," he calls over his shoulder as an afterthought.

The girl watches him walk away for a moment before muttering "Feckin' arse," and hopping back on her bike, pedaling away.

"I second that," Annie says then pops to his side. "What was that about?"

Mitchell trudges over to the cow pen, grabbing a cherry-pick to start mucking.

"You should've apologized to her."

He hops the fence and starts scooping up cow patties.

"You were acting like you barely even…" She catches the heavy thing inside her as it tries to fall out with her realization of what it is. "…Notice her."

She eyes the man before her with sorrow and longing as he works with unnecessary force, as if trying to sweat out his frustration. Holding a hand to her mouth, she sinks onto the ground with the weight of having robbed a cradle for a grave.

"Oh, what have I done to you?"

He hurls a cow patty into the wheelbarrow before scooping up another at a clip, as if he were being timed.

"I've all but killed you," she whispers, tears pooling in her eyes. "This is so very wrong. I'm dead and you're living. I should never have tried to talk to you. I should never have put these ideas in your head. Oh God, Mitchell." She shoves herself to her feet and stands before him. "You have to give up on me. You have to _live_. I'm not the answer. You need… stolen kisses and nights of passion and to be barking at boys who try to court your daughters." Her hands fall limply to her sides as he continues to work. "Not this. Not me. Not my… selfishness."

Despite the regret and guilt radiating from her, her soldier doesn't react. By the time the paddock is cleaned and the manure is scattered on the resting field, his hands are red and blistering.

That night, as he changes into his pajamas, he hums "If You Were the Only Girl (In the World)" and looks so charmed and hopeful that Annie cloisters herself in the corner of the room. She watches him through her tears as he perches on the edge of his bed, sitting perfectly still, and she knows he's trying to coax his mystery woman out of hiding.

Annie closes her eyes, her tears spilling onto her cheeks. "I will never touch you again."


	21. The Modern Prometheus

**Annie's Soldier**

**21. The Modern Prometheus**

Autumn is in full swing and the butchered bull that was born in the spring is being smoked and cured on the night Mitchell startles his parents with an odd question. "What do you suppose death is like?"

His mother darts him a worried look as she knits but his father merely shrugs. Mitchell's eyes are glassy as they stare into the flames of the fire, the tea left in his mug growing cold as the wind howls outside. Annie is leaning her forehead against the cold window because she feels like she has more in common with the raging wind than she does with the family.

Malachy shrugs. "It's oft described as falling asleep."

"I was thinking more like, what it must be like to _be_ dead."

Una chuckles faintly. "Why would you be having thoughts like that?"

"It's worse than being invisible," Annie answers him. "When no one can see you and you have no body but for some insane reason have been left your emotions… it's like a form of torture, really."

"Everyone has thoughts like that, Mam," her soldier says quietly.

Una's dark eyes are troubled and Annie knows she's thinking of Ms. Hannigan's nephew Albert who took his own life after losing both legs. The thought fixes the ghost's eyes on Mitchell. "Yeah, really. Why _are_ you having thoughts like that?"

"I doubt you're much of anything when you're dead," Malachy says.

"But something of a person's mind must survive," Mitchell insists.

"We'll all find out some day," Una sighs. "And maybe if you quit skipping church you'd have your answer." She arches a brow and Mitchell sighs, resting his chin on his hand, returning his gaze to the flames.

Annie steps over to him, her guilt gnawing with renewed force, for he has been skipping services every Sunday for a month now for the same reason: to try to contact her while he's home alone. Despite his attempts, she has done nothing to encourage him and has maintained her vow not to touch him anymore, but the message doesn't seem to be getting through. He's too hopeful for his own good. And if all of this obsession with her has started to form thoughts of suicide then it was time to make herself clear.

He still looks at her note from time to time, so as he sleeps, she slips the piece of paper out from under his pillow and carries it into the main room. Pausing before the embers of the fire, she studies the handwriting, smudged from the many times his thumbs have pressed against it.

The wind picks up again outside, funneling down through the chimney pipe like a banshee. Closing her eyes, Annie clutches the piece of paper to her breast, her voice hoarse with tears. "I'll always protect you, Johnny," she whispers to the night. "But if I have to break your heart to save you… then I must."

She kisses the note then tosses it into the flames, weeping as the orange glow dissolves the paper into nothing more than ash. And just like that, her soldier's greatest treasure is lost forever.

Storming back into his room, she shoves the map back into its book, returns the tea to the tin, and tosses the lamb's wool out the window. When she is done, she returns to his room to make sure she has completed the purge of his memory of her. There is nothing left except herself and her soldier's heart. As she weeps in the corner, Kitten Annie saunters over and rubs against her comfortingly in some sort of truce.

Mitchell discovers the missing slip of paper a few nights later and bursts into his parent's room with wild eyes. "Mam, did you touch anything in my room?"

"Christ, Johnny!" his father scolds.

"Did you, Mam?"

"No," she groans, sitting up. "Why? What's missing?"

He stands there shaking for a moment before muttering "Nothing" and darting through Annie on his way out. Remembering he left their door open, he passes back through her and shuts it before returning to his room.

Annie hears his mother whispering something about him getting queerer and queerer.

Loud noises are coming from Mitchell's room, so Annie drags her feet to the doorway. She finds him yanking aside his mattress in the light from his oil lamp. He shakes out his blankets and pillow. He scoots aside his bureau but nothing is in the corner. He looks in the old book.

There is nowhere left to try, so he leans his back against his shut door and slides to the floor, his hair in his face. He pounds the floorboards with his fists before digging his palms into his temples, his face flushed and his eyes shimmering above his heaving chest.

Annie kneels before him, shocked by her own calm in the face of his suffering. "That's right," she whispers. "I'm gone. Probably was never there at all. You've been cured of my poison. It's time to forget about me now."

Then she gets up and walks through the wall, leaving him crumpled on the floor as she haunts the barn for the night.

"I'm only whispered words," she says to the moonlight and the wind. "Shivering touches."

After a while, she peers in his bedroom. Mitchell has slumped onto the floor by his door but his chest is rising and falling with a steady rhythm. Her eyes climb upwards and before she knows it, she finds herself on the roof. After pacing its perimeter several times, she settles on the highest peak, above Mitchell's room.

She spends every night of the winter months as a gargoyle on the roof, guarding her lover from afar. Sometimes the sparks that waft out of the chimney perform little fairy dances. Other times the smoke explains her own feelings to her as it gyres and bends, twists and fades into nothingness. And sometimes she is so overcome with longing that she has to dig her fingers into the thatch to keep from lying down inside her soldier and listening to his heart.

Yet even still, his voice somehow makes it to her ears, impossibly light, as he hums "If You Were the Only Girl (In the World)" and asks her what he did wrong.

Christmas comes and goes quietly and marks his return to church. There are no more one-man séances or late night whispers. Annie watches everything from a distance. Close enough to protect her soldier if need's be, but far enough away for him to never know she is there. Far enough for her to be able to ignore his smile when it returns in the spring with a new calf.

"That's my lad," she whispers abjectly as he grins at the newborn. "Resilient as ever."

The distance has made time slip past her with alarming speed. She only notices the bold and important, and it's as if her own emotions have been muted. They're still there, but just grayer, like the rest of her.

_This must be what old ghosts feel like all the time_, she muses.

"Christ," Malachy says that night, reading the paper. "The IRA is attacking barracks all the time now. Seven counties have been declared as existing in a state of disturbance."

"Was anyone killed?" Una asks.

"It doesn't say."

"I always feel so terrible for their poor widows."

Mitchell is seated with Kitten Annie, or rather, the only Annie, on the hearth. Though his eyes flicker to their shotgun behind the coats by the door, his shoulders remain relaxed. His ghost feels a flicker of pride at that. He has grown strong indeed.

Then a spark courses through him on a morning in March as he rides the train to Cork. It arrives in the form of a bespectacled girl whose hair is cut in a modern bob. She takes a seat beside Mitchell with a brief smile before pulling out a novel.

Annie narrows her eyes from the back of the train car as she notices him sneak glances at the girl. Popping into the aisle beside the pair, she watches more closely.

"What're you reading?" Mitchell asks.

She smiles without looking up, as if embarrassed. "_Frankenstein the Modern Prometheus_."

"What's it about?"

When she turns her face from the book to the boy next to her, Annie gets a good look at her. Her skin is clear and her eyes are light brown like her hair, and while it's hard to tell while half-hidden by the frame of her round glasses, her eyebrows seem to dart out like the wings of a gull and are easily her most unique feature. Aside from her nose that is too turned up for Annie's tastes, that is.

"You won't make fun?" the girl asks.

He shakes his head. "You'd be doing me a favor. I'd be reading myself but it makes me feel sick."

"Well, in that case, it's about a young doctor in Switzerland who stitches together body parts from several different men, then animates him using electricity, thinking he's found the secret to bringing back the dead."

Mitchell's interest takes on new intensity at that. "Did it work?"

"The creature lived, yes, but he's been outcast from everywhere, you see, because he's so monstrous looking. He turns against humanity and swears to _destroy_ Dr. Frankenstein."

Mitchell holds her gaze for several seconds before responding. "I do believe you've read this before."

She smiles, and when she does so, her rather plain face becomes beautiful. And the way Mitchell smiles back, as if hers is contagious, makes Annie feel split in two.

"This is my third time, actually," the girl confesses before sticking out her hand. "I'm Brigid."

He gives her hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your last – Frankenstein, was it?"

Brigid laughs then covers her mouth when her laugh ends in a snort, which makes Mitchell laugh, as well.

"Sorry," she squeaks then takes a deep breath to calm herself. "It's the most unfortunate trait."

"I rather like it," Mitchell says, still chuckling.

"Then you must come from a farm if you're comfortable around pigs."

He laughs so hard that he nearly doubles over. Brigid looks like she wants to laugh with him but can't imagine that she's been so clever.

"The thing is," he gasps out, "I actually do."

Brigid barks at that, then snorts, and from that moment on, they are no longer strangers on a train.

Annie watches them laugh and talk, sounding like geeks, even if the word doesn't even exist yet. It turns out that Brigid is from Tralee and is on her way to visit a sister. She writes down her address on a slip of paper and asks him to call on her sometime soon. He promises that he will and they share a brief moment of awkward smiles as she rises at her stop.

"Seeya then," she says after he hands her her suitcase.

Mitchell tips his hat. "Seeya."

Brigid gets off the bus, as do several other passengers, and Mitchell sits back down by the window, biting his lip in an obvious attempt to hide his glee. Annie slumps down beside him, careful not to let her shoulder brush his.

"Wait!" a voice calls as the train pulls away from the station. Mitchell does a double-take when he sees Brigid hurrying towards his window, and then sticks his head out. "I never got your name!"

"Johnny!" is all he has time to shout before the train picks up speed.

She waves madly and he laughs as he waves back, then recoils back inside once he notices the odd looks he's getting from his fellow passengers.

Annie remains split in two as she watches the dozens of minute emotions play out across her soldier's face. Joy. Amusement. Embarrassment. Longing. Worry. But mostly hope. And that's what makes Annie whole again. Because Brigid is awkward and charming and makes him laugh. Makes him _feel_.

Annie tries to pluck the barbs off her jealousy one by one so that's he can relax and be happy for him.

Hours later, he's bouncing Sean on his knee, making the baby grin.

Danny and Rory tear up the stairs like a herd of elephants, bursting into the flat with flushed cheeks. Felix leaps to his feet, his face more stern than Annie has ever seen. "What the hell have you done now?" he demands of his brothers.

Mitchell furrows his brow at their expressions, and the fear in their eyes that spreads to Mitchell makes Annie tingle and crackle for the first time in months.

"They're dragging people out of their homes," Danny says, his voice wavering. "Shoving them out into the streets. Women and babies and all."

Mitchell slowly hands Sean over to Penny who shoots him a worried look as she takes her son.

"Who?" Felix asks.

"The RIC, who do you think?!" Rory snaps.

Danny has darted to the window and is peering out at the street below from behind the curtain.

"What for?" Penny asks.

Danny licks his lips as he looks from brother to brother, calming his voice. "There was an RIC patrol that was ambushed on their way back to their barracks yesterday. A fella got killed."

"Are they searching for IRA then?" Mitchell asks. He flicks his eyes to Felix at his friend's silence, but the blonde has Danny in his crosshairs.

"What?" Danny asks as Rory moves to peek out the window beside his brother.

"Where were you yesterday?" Felix asks, his voice low.

Danny furrows his brow and shakes his head. "Packing for Mr. Barton." He glances to Rory. "We both were."

Felix doesn't blink. "Don't lie to me, Danny. Don't you dare lie to me."

Penny rises, fixing the two with a stern look. "Rory?"

Rory cracks, yanking his cap off with a flourish. Danny glares at his younger brother before snapping at Felix. "It's nothing illegal. We're our own country now – we're members of the military."

Mitchell closes his eyes in exasperation and Annie weaves her way to his side.

Felix stalks towards Danny, who stands his ground, even as Felix latches onto his collar and jerks him. "Did you pull the trigger?"

Danny blinks repetitively and Rory rests a hand on Felix's arm. "Let him go."

"Did you?!"

"No!" Danny barks back. "I mean, I fired – we both did – but neither of us were aiming at the fella who died."

Felix releases him only to turn his back on him, raking a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ."

Danny fixes his jacket and vest, glaring at his older brother. "So that's it, then? You're all talk, are you? Yet you bully me the moment I try to act –"

"You're staying in _my_ flat," Felix growls as the two talk over each other.

"—Because I actually have the courage to fight –"

"With _my_ wife and son –"

"For my own damned country!"

Felix faces him again and Danny's chest is heaving.

"What did you just say?" Felix nearly purrs.

Mitchell swallows hard then steps forward, grabbing his friend's arm. "He didn't mean it, Felix."

Rory's eyes are wide as he watches the two with a look of worry that only a younger brother who loved them both could achieve.

"Yeah," Danny says, "I did. And I'm not ashamed. Not one bit. I won't hide who I am."

"You think it didn't take _courage_ to fight old Hun in the trenches?" Felix snarls, and Annie is sure he'd have hit his brother by now if not for Mitchell's hand on his arm. "To face death every day to earn the wages that put food in _your_ ungrateful belly?"

"Felix," Mitchell lowly cautions but his friend jerks his arm out of his grasp.

Danny deflates a bit but keeps his head held high. "And I'm grateful for that. I am. But that was your fight. This is mine."

Felix clenches his jaw as he keeps his eyes trained on Danny. "If you want to run around with your mates and drill and train and play soldier, then that's your affair. But you'll not bring it back with you. Not to this house. Not where my son sleeps."

Danny nods stiffly. His eyes dart to Penny but if he was hoping from some sort of reprieve, he receives none, for she casts her eyes away, and Annie can't blame her for wanting to protect her child. "Right," he growls, before making his way over to his suitcase and flinging his scant possessions inside.

Rory watches, pale, then stiffly heads over to his bag, as well, packing it up.

"Rory?" Felix asks.

The youngest looks about to tremble. "I'm going with Danny," he says. "We took an oath of allegiance to the Irish Republican Army."

Felix works his jaw then lets his hand fall to his side. "Of course."

Mitchell stands beside Penny as they watch the two boys pack. Mitchell is fixing Felix with a dark look, clearly disapproving of the way he has handled the situation, but if his friend has noticed, he's pretending he hasn't.

"Right." Danny sighs, hoisting his suitcase. He treads over to Penny and kisses Sean on the head then his sister-in-law on the cheek before making for the door. "Let's go, Rory."

Rory nods, hesitating by the window, staring at his oldest brother with large blue eyes for a moment, looking younger than his eighteen-years, before swallowing down whatever it is he wants to say and following Danny.

"Danny!" Felix calls as the brunette opens the door. The pair look back at him over their shoulders. "You're wrong. This isn't your fight. It's mine as well. You remember that."

Danny studies him for several moments and there is no anger in his eyes when he nods his understanding then crosses the threshold. Rory quietly closes the door behind him but couldn't quite gather the courage to look at their faces one more time.

The two veterans, mother and child, and ghost stand still, listening to the boys' footfalls on the stairs. At length, Felix sighs, looking back to Penny, who reaches out to squeeze his hand.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he mutters to Mitchell before striding to the door and locking it.

Mitchell shakes his head, his eyes dark with empathy.

"Don't look at me like that," Felix snips before heading into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

Annie looks down at her leggings and boots. She pats her hips and chest and cheeks. She moves to the window and studies what she can see of her reflection, for the passion in the room has dragged her back into feeling.

"I'm sure he just needs a moment," Penny says, forcing a smile. "You know how brothers are." Her lower lip trembles, followed by her jaw, and the moment Mitchell's face shows that he's noticed, she falls apart. Sinking onto the sofa, she keeps one arm around Sean and holds the other to her face as she gasps for a breath.

Mitchell sits down beside her. "It's all right, love. They'll mend. Families always do."

Penny shakes her head, her cheeks flushing as tears escape. "What if they're killed?"

Annie watches from the window as Mitchell drapes an arm around her, pulling her into a hug while she weeps into his shoulder.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**

**_The line "If I have to break your heart to save you... then I must" was inspired by Kelly Clarkson's "Sober," which I'll link to on my tumblr. Most of my plots work themselves out while I'm running and listening to music, hence the lyric influences!_**

**_My sis and I see Rachelle Lefevre as Penny and William Moseley as Rory, just FYI!__  
_**


	22. Hello Yourself

**So... Brigid's father is Colm Meaney, hands down. His comedic genius will always taint me.**

**Annie's Soldier**

**22. Hello Yourself**

Mitchell heads home the following afternoon after making Felix promise to come to Kerry if ever he finds himself in trouble. While Sean is a delight, the visit has been somewhat spoiled by the fight. A storm is on the way, so Mitchell feels the need to be home to help his parents, anyway. As the tram to the station weaves through the streets of Cork, they pass a group of houses that have been ransacked by the RIC.

"Christ," Mitchell breathes, and Annie peers out the window, as well, as a chorus of surprised gasps rises from the passengers.

The windows are all broken and the homes appear gutted and singed. Mitchell looks away, his face distraught, and Annie knows he's thinking of Belgium for she is, too.

She watches him with a worried eye as they approach the dark clouds hanging over Dingle, and as she does so, she is swamped with longing as she realizes just how much she has missed the slope of his nose, the slant in the corners of his eyes, the green in his irises… for it has been some time since she has looked upon him so closely with anything but a drifting mind.

His vulnerability enlivens her as much as it deflates her as she sags against the back of the empty seat beside him. She hasn't felt this urge to gather him in her arms and kiss his face in months, and it is as familiar as it is unwanted. She had thought she was past all that.

The storm hits hard and Mitchell is soaked to the bone by the time he makes it home from the train stop, though inside isn't much drier. The thatching is saturated and leaking all over. Pots and pans are scattered about, trying to control the rainwater, but Una and Malachy seem to have all but given up. Annie feels a pang of guilt as she worries her gargoyle wanderings have created the leaks, but she shakes the thought off as Malachy steps through her and she remembers just how weightless she actually is.

The following morning is dismal. The rain has lightened, even if it hasn't let up, but the field full of winter wheat is so saturated that little rivers are coursing through it on their way to the sea. What plants remain rooted are so waterlogged and beaten that they lie flat against the mud. Annie watches the two Mitchell men with worry as they converse about the crop in Irish, looking haggard.

There's naught to be done to save the crop, save divert the water, which is a losing battle. After a while, the two cut their losses. Annie isn't clear on what losing the wheat will mean for the family, other than loss of feed for the cattle. The rain continues and Mitchell uses it as an excuse to take the train into Tralee. Annie can't blame him. Even she is getting tired of being constantly dripped on. Well, dripped through.

Her soldier studies Brigid's address and weaves his way through the streets, having to double back a few times before he finds her house. It's in town and shares two walls with the neighbors, and Annie wonders if their roofs are leaking, as well.

"Yes?" a large man with squinty eyes and curling hair says as he opens the door. "How can I help you?"

Mitchell takes off his sodden hat, suddenly paler and wider-eyed than usual. "I've come to call Brigid, if she's in."

The man holds Mitchell in his stern gaze for a few moments longer before barking over his shoulder. "Brigid!"

Feet pound on the stairs then in the hall.

"Does this belong to you?" he asks, jerking his head towards Mitchell, causing an indignant expression to flash over Annie's soldier's face.

"Yes," Brigid chirps, standing on her tip toes to try to see around her father who is intentionally blocking the door. "Da, he'll catch his death – let him in."

The man grunts and reluctantly steps aside. Mitchell hesitates then shuffles inside after him. Annie peers around the narrow home, feeling like she has gone forward in time, for it more or less resembles the layout of modern living. Though, she reckons, many "modern" houses in England were probably built around this time.

Brigid and Mitchell smile expectantly at each other as she closes the door, seemingly momentarily forgetting they're under her father's gaze. A pitter pattering distracts Brigid and she notices that the young man in her entryway is literally dripping.

"What in the name of?" A woman says as she catches sight of Mitchell, and for a moment, the two young people tense, waiting for some sort of assault. Instead, the woman bustles over to Mitchell and starts yanking on his coat. "You poor dear, you look like a drowned rat." She hangs up his sodden jacket. "Kick off your shoes and come in by the fire."

Mitchell barely has time to comply before he is all but manhandled inside. Brigid laughs and Annie narrows her eyes at her, for no matter how much she reminds herself that this is right and good for her soldier, there is still that sting inside.

Once Brigid's mother has finished plying him with blankets and hot tea, seemingly overjoyed that someone has an interest in her child, Mitchell and Brigid get a chance to look at each other again.

"So…" Brigid begins. "Hello."

Mitchell chuckles. "Hello yourself."

Her father grunts from his armchair.

"How was your friend?" she asks.

"Oh, he was…" Mitchell trails off. "Holding up in the face of some troubles."

"Probably a good thing he had you there then, huh?"

Her father grunts again, as if trying to give a subtle reminder that he is monitoring them, and even Annie gives him a weird look.

"How's your sister getting on?"

"Good enough. She has two boys who give her no rest."

Mitchell nods and the two dart an awkward glance to her father who seems content to chew on the stem of his pipe.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Annie snaps, "Give them some room." Then she tucks her chin in to her chest and holds a hand to her mouth, for speaking felt odd and alive after not doing it for so long.

"I keep thinking I ought to read that book you told me about," Mitchell tries. "Only I haven't the time, really."

"_Frankenstein_?" she asks with a small smile and Mitchell nods.

"Oh don't tell me you're into those fantastical tales as well," her father suddenly says, and Annie realizes that his voice is always a bellow, as if he's losing his hearing.

"Leave him be, Da," Brigid snips.

"It's bad enough to have young people listening to jazz without adding all these ridiculous notions of –"

"Go gripe somewhere else, you eejit," Brigid screams.

The large man blinks at her in surprise.

"Well, if it wasn't awkward before…" Annie drawls.

"I don't have to listen to this," her father says, shoving himself up with a heave. "I'm going to the kitchen."

He wanders into the adjoining room and Brigid fixes Mitchell with a shy smile. "Sorry."

Mitchell grins back bashfully. "It's good to see your face again."

Brigid lets out a funny sound that is halfway between a laugh and a grunt before sweeping her dress under her legs and taking a seat beside him on the hearth at the same time. She peers at him, keeping her arms wrapped around her thighs. "This somehow feels more normal."

He furrows his brow slightly.

"You're an odd duck, aren't you?" Annie asks.

"Because of the train ride," Brigid clarifies.

Mitchell chuckles. "I see what you mean."

"Only, I can't believe you're in my house," she says with a giggle. "Drinking my tea!"

He shoves the cup at her. "You can have it back."

"Nah, I'll put it on your tab."

"Oh really? I've a tab now, do I?'

She shakes her head, grinning helplessly. "I've no idea."

The two fall into a fit of giggles and Annie stares at them like they're a pair of turtles, for she can't see what's so amusing other than the hormones that must be making them half-drunk.

"Oh dear," Brigid says with a sigh, shoving her glasses further up her nose. "Would you like to see my books?"

"I'd love to."

After peering into the kitchen to make sure her parents aren't looking, she takes his hand and leads him upstairs to her room. It's cramped and stuffy but she has a small bookshelf one wall. There can't be more than thirty books on it but both she and Mitchell seem to think it's quite a collection.

The ice is broken and free from her father's ears, they chat gaily about their lives, while Annie reads the spines of each book. Mitchell tells her that he was in the army but is done with all that and happy to have a farm, even if it isn't going so great at the moment. Brigid has been in and out of the hospital all of her childhood for having weak lungs, but she's doing much better now. She is the youngest of four girls and the last at home.

"I miss them," she says of her sisters. "The house used to be so full of shouting and laughing and arguing."

"You must be lonely, then."

"What about you?" she asks, folding up the blanket her mother had forced on him, before sitting on her bed.

He shrugs a little, examining a porcelain doll on her bureau. "Not really. I'm too busy. For a while, I had a friend who…" He blinks with a peculiar expression and Annie's face melts.

"Who?" Brigid prompts.

"I've got Annie," he says with a small smile, making his ghost shimmer and long to touch him again. "My cat," he explains when he realizes he's mentioned another woman's name. "And the cattle. They're great listeners."

"I'll bet your voice turns the milk sweet," she says then looks as if she didn't realize it was her voice that said it.

Mitchell chuckles softly. "You're the sweet one."

Brigid smiles so crookedly that it makes her look like a mouse. "No one's ever called me that before."

"They haven't?"

"I've mostly been, annoying and spoiled and bookish, but that's all according to my sisters."

"Well you are, in fact, very sweet," Mitchell says, sitting down on the bed beside her. They study each other with shy expressions, scandalous as their actions are, and look so flawed that Annie can't help but think they're adorable.

His mother is the first to notice his giddy mood upon his return home that evening. "What's the craic, Johnny?" she asks as she knits.

He shrugs and smiles. "I don't know yet."

Malachy narrows his eyes at him. "What kind of fool answer is that?"

"_Tá áthas uirthi_," is his cryptic response before hopping into his room. (_She is happy_)

Annie watches Una fix her husband with a hopeful gaze. "What _she_?"

"Probably the damned cat," Malachy replies, cleaning his pipe. Annie smirks as Una tosses her ball of yarn at him.

Mitchell visits Brigid again the following week, and the two go for a walk and chat. Their shoulders brush against each other's a few times and Brigid grabs his arm as she laughs. She is confident in a peculiar way that must come from her hospital stays, and Annie can't blame her soldier for being drawn to her wit.

He returns home to news that the Mayor of Cork has been shot in his own home, in front of his wife, by men with black masks who retreated to the RIC barracks. The tidings dampen his smile and he writes to Felix immediately. The blonde's curt response arrives a few days later, saying that the English military has sent a force to subdue the violence.

Mitchell reads the letter aloud to his parents over dinner.

"It's about time," Una says. "All this killing has got to end."

"Thank God we've no rebels in Dingle," Malachy says. "With any luck, we'll scrape by this whole mess completely."

"Yeah…" Mitchell says quietly, though Annie doesn't think he sounds convinced.

Especially when they smell smoke at the start of April and spot a burning building on the horizon, only to learn that the IRA torched some three-hundred abandoned RIC barracks in the countryside. He is tense after that and checks their guns once more.

* * *

Annie feels odd, as if she's living in a fog, while she watches Mitchell and Brigid's romance blossom while rumors of crowds being fired upon and spies being executed escalate.

It takes forever for the two to kiss, and when they do, Brigid turns her head in conversation and Mitchell misses, hitting her cheek instead. They laugh then she holds still, allowing him to kiss her proper. Annie watches but feels like she is dreaming, for Mitchell has become such a distant sensation. She has moments of clarity now and again when Mitchell's fear makes her crackle back to life, but mostly she drifts along several yards away.

On a warm June afternoon, Mitchell and Brigid picnic in the shade of a tree. Annie climbs into the branches, preferring to be able to scan the countryside as she does when she's a gargoyle at night. The couple below her grows quiet and when she peers down at them through the branches, they are kissing, their bodies a respectable distance apart that makes them look like two beached whales.

She looks back to the horizon then the odd time-slipping thing happens, because suddenly the sun is higher in the sky and Mitchell is laughing and splashing in the water of the nearby lake. Stripped down to her underthings, Brigid bounds in and joins him. Her wet clothing is nearly transparent and as they kiss, using the excuse of the water hiding them to press their bodies close, Annie only feels a dull pain at the lust wafting off the pair. A far cry from the previous summer when she so ached to be the hands that slid over her soldier's bronzed, muscled skin.

Brigid comes over for an early dinner a few days later, and when Mitchell leads her into the house to meet his parents, they are holding hands. Una couldn't look more delighted if she tried and Malachy is more jovial than he's been since the crop failed.

Annie watches from the doorway to Mitchell's room as Brigid tries to hide her curiosity over her surroundings, for the thatched roof and plaster walls are rustic compared to her townhouse. Annie wonders if the girl is asking herself – _cCould I live here if we wed_?

Ms. Hannigan stops by at dusk and looks nearly as delighted as Una to see a young woman on Mitchell's arm.

"I'm so sorry for intruding," she says as she tries to catch her breath. "I won't come in. I'm only stopping by on my way home to tell you not to go out after dark."

"Why?" Malachy asks.

"Two RIC were killed a few hours ago, not three miles from here."

Annie crackles as Mitchell's adrenaline reaches her.

"Here?" Malachy repeats, incredulously.

Ms. Hannigan nods. "I heard the gunshots from the creamery."

Una clasps a hand to her mouth and Mitchell detangles his arm from Brigid as he rises and peers out the door past the old woman, looking this way and that. "I'll walk you home."

"No. I have my cart." She gestures to the donkey hitched to the rickety wooden thing, resting in the last light of the day. "And out of everyone in the house, you'd be the most suspect. It's always young lads doing the killing – never old ladies and their donkeys. I best be off." She starts to step out the door then smiles at Brigid. "It's nice to meet you. I'm sorry for the dark tidings."

Brigid offers her a small smile. "You, as well."

Mitchell watches Ms. Hannigan leave until she is out of sight, and Annie knows he's resisting the urge to follow her.

"Well," Malachy says, clearing his throat. "We best get Ms. Brigid to the train station, then."

Brigid rises and grabs her sweater.

"No," Mitchell says, stepping back inside. "It's too dangerous." He softens his gaze when he looks upon her. "You won't mind staying the night, will you?"

"My – my parents will worry," Brigid says. "But once they've heard the news, they'll figure it out. That is…" She blushes as the impropriety of what she's doing hits her. "If you all don't mind, of course."

Una darts a sharp gaze to her husband, cutting off any possible protest. "Of course not, dear. We'll be happy knowing you're safe."

Malachy keeps his gaze fixed on the lane out the window as dusk settles in, scanning the road for passerby. Mitchell makes up his bed for his guest then takes Brigid out with him for his evening chores. She smiles as she watches him check on the cattle and their calf.

Annie watches from her perch on the roof and notices that Brigid doesn't touch much of anything, as if afraid of getting dirty. She wants to dislike her for it but knows that as a city girl herself, she'd most likely have been the same at first.

Mitchell's parents don't go to bed until they're certain that Brigid is sound asleep in his room and their son is settled on the floor of the main room. Yet even so, Annie hears his door creak open and soft footfalls as Brigid sneaks out to lie down beside him. He enfolds her in his arms and they share whispers and kisses until the sun comes up and she sneaks back into his room for a few hours of sleep.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**

**_As for Brigid... I chose Abbie Cornish when I described her, but Felicity from _Arrow_ kept trying to take over, as anachronistic as that is, so take only what you will from my suggestions!_**


	23. Run A Course

_**I accidentally spent all afternoon yesterday editing together a trailer for this story using what I could. It's all period if you squint! ;) You can check it out on my tumblr blog under blackhawkwriter. Enjoy!**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**23. Run a Course**

"We call them the Black and Tans," Penny says to Mitchell as he helps her lay out their meal on a warm September evening in Cork. "It's like they just made uniforms out of whatever was lying around."

"They're a disgrace even to that," Felix says.

Though she tries not to, Annie keeps smiling at baby Sean as the child grins at her as if he can see her.

"Look at this," Felix says, pulling out a letter from Danny. "They've been given orders to shoot any man who doesn't raise his hands right away when asked, or anyone who even _looks_ suspicious. They've sanctioned the murder of civilians as reprisal for any RIC or Black and Tan assassinations." He looks up from the letter to meet his friend's hazel gaze. "The folk who keep turning up dead aren't accidents."

Mitchell's voice is tight. "I admit.. when they first came I hoped they would… restore order but now… it's like they've lost control."

"Most of them are veterans like you," Penny says, flicking her eyes between the two. "Only I hear they fought in the Somme and left their souls behind."

"Jesus," Mitchell sighs. "They've sicked a pack of mad dogs on us."

"Then it's a good thing lads like us have fired a gun before," Felix says quietly, meeting Mitchell's gaze with a level of seriousness rarely seen in the blonde's eyes.

"So," Penny says, breaking the rising anxiety. "Tell me more about Brigid."

Annie rolls her eyes then goes back to playing peek-a-boo with the one-year-old, certain now that he can see her.

Mitchell complies over dinner but Penny cuts him off, counting on her fingers. "Hang on – this has been going on for six months now?"

Mitchell raises his brows, doing the calculation in his head. "I suppose."

"Then why haven't we met her?"

Annie stiffens at Penny's question, the old, dulled jealous prick returning as she faces the dining friends. "That's a good point," she whispers, stepping over to them while Sean sucks on his own toes.

Mitchell shrugs. "I didn't want to invite her without asking."

"It's not like you don't own a pencil and paper," Felix points out before shoveling in a bite of potato.

Mitchell chews more slowly, even as Penny starts talking about Danny and Rory's latest visit, and how they've offered for the boys to move back home if they wish now that Cork is flying the Irish flag. Annie hopes he's wondering why he doesn't know the answer to Penny's question, because she'd like to know, as well.

Especially when, on their return home, she checks in his bureau drawer for the grandmother's wedding ring that he was once going to give to a girl he'd only seen twice. The ring is still there, and while she knows that her soldier has learned much more about love since he knew Molly, there is still something about his lack of commitment that makes her tingle.

"It better as hell not be because of me," she mutters as she shuts the drawer, watching him sleep. She hasn't been this close to his sleeping form in ages and it fills her with a dull ache. She pops onto the roof where she lets the cold numb her.

At the beginning of October, after walking into the village for a part to fix the pump out in the cattle yard, Mitchell is surprised to find Brigid waiting for him with his parents. He grins and takes off his hat and coat. "This is a pleasant surprise."

When no one smiles back, he stiffens, and Annie crackles with his fear and pops to his side.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Two RIC came by," Brigid says quietly. "Wanted to ask me what I knew about your involvement with the IRA."

"_What_?" both Mitchell and Annie bark at the same time.

"They said you were a suspect." Her brown eyes tear up. "That if I fail to report any suspicious activity you do, they'll…"

"They threatened her family," Malachy rumbles.

"Oh God," Mitchell gasps, falling to his knees at her side and taking her hand in his. "I'm so sorry, Brigid. This is some sort of misunderstanding. I'm not involved – you _know_ I'm not."

"Tell him the rest," Una urges.

Brigid sniffles then composes herself and Mitchell sits down in the seat beside her. "They said you had a mark on your military record," she continues, wiping at her eyes behind her glasses. "That you were caught with seditious material and now you're on some list."

"Oh God," Annie gasps, "Mitchell, this is all Felix's fault. When they found his trunk… you lied to protect him and now you're..."

Mitchell shakes his head numbly then curses and winces as he has the same realization as Annie. His voice shakes as he tells his parents and Brigid about what had happened in the trenches.

"You're a damned fool," Malachy snarls. "You should've set the record straight long ago."

"There was nothing to _be_ set straight," Mitchell pleads. "I was reprimanded but that's it. I had no idea they kept track, but of course – the Rising had just…" He rubs his face. "So they think I'm IRA now?"

Brigid shakes her head. "I don't know what they think, but I'm supposed to spy on you."

"Lord save us," Una says, pressing her clasped hands to her lips.

"This is insane," Annie moans. "I should've been there. I could've… _done_ something. Instead I was watching him," she squawks as she gestures to Mitchell, "pick out pipe parts!"

Mitchell shakes his head, his jaw set. "But I've done nothing wrong. _Nothing_."

"I know, love," Brigid says as she takes his hand in hers.

"I served their country. Christ, for five long years I fought and bled for their people."

"_Their_?" Malachy quietly asks. It's a division they all feel, but haven't yet dared to voice, and the tension in the room builds.

"Heavens, it's already dark out," Una says, looking out the window. "You'd best stay the night again, dear."

Brigid nods, wiping behind her glasses again.

"Oh, just let those bastards try to come by," Annie growls, pacing the room and peering out the windows. "I'll freeze their hearts in their chests."

She pops out onto the roof and stalks its perimeter, her narrowed eyes fiercely scanning the horizon, her senses finally alive once more, even if all she can feel in this moment is the fierceness of her own desire to protect.

A noise startles her late at night and she peers down to watch Brigid dash out to the barn in her underthings.

"What're you up to?" Annie mutters before popping onto the barn's roof.

She's surprised to find Mitchell waiting for her and realizes that he had snuck out without her noticing, which makes Annie feel very off. Was she really ignoring him so much that she could no longer keep track of where he was?

"We don't have to do this," he whispers, holding Brigid's hands.

"I want to," Brigid says. "Before it's too late."

He hugs her to him, tangling a hand in her brown bob. She starts kissing his neck as he guides her to the hay and Annie's face cracks. She climbs higher onto the roof, covering her ears when she hears their soft chuckles over the clumsy way they undress each other. Silence, followed by a brief session of gasping and they're done. Annie removes her hands, resuming her pacing while muttering, "I highly doubt that was worth it."

She waits for them to return to the house but neither appears. Just when she wonders if they somehow fell asleep in the cold, she hears a happy whine from Brigid and realizes that they're at it again.

Sneering, Annie claws at her hair and stomps her feet, her anger rising until she hears a soft, damp moan from her soldier. That small noise of lust intoxicates her as much as it tears her apart, for she could never give him such pleasure. She could never be whole again, even for him.

The door to the farmhouse clicks shut so quietly that Annie barely hears it. She remains where she is, lying on her back and looking at the stars, tears slowly turning to ice on her cheeks.

Sometime later, when the sun is warming the horizon, heralding its arrival, Annie pops into Mitchell's room and stares down at the lovers entwined in his small bed. She wants to hate them. She wants the sight of their warm bodies that yearn for each other's to fill her with disgust. But all she feels is self-pity, which makes her weak.

"You're sure?" Mitchell murmurs against her, and whatever it is he's asking has obviously already happened several times, for Brigid groans.

"Yes. Hush now."

"But… how can you be _sure_?"

Brigid closes her eyes and lets out a long breath. "Because… there was an accident once, when I was in the hospital. I was given medicine I never should've…" She opens her eyes. "The doctors say it'll be highly unlikely."

Annie furrows her brow and Brigid won't meet his eyes. He tucks a finger under her chin and coaxes her into looking at him. "You mean you can't…?"

A little quiver runs through her lips before she nods, her nostrils flaring.

"Oh no…" Annie wheezes, and all the pity and jealousy and desire flood out of her like water.

Mitchell sighs and releases her chin to rub her back. She rests her head on his chest. "When were you going to tell me?" he asks quietly.

She shrugs. "When we got engaged, I suppose."

His face tenses and his eyes take on a hint of guilt. "Christ, I've ruined everything, haven't I? We've done it all backwards."

"No, we've done it just right."

"I should've asked you to marry me," he says. "_Before_ we…"

She raises her brows. "I… I can't marry you, Johnny."

"What?"

"It wouldn't be fair. I can't marry any man who wants children."

Mitchell's chest heaves as he fights to reply, but his words seem locked away.

"This was always going to run a course," Brigid says, even as tears make her eyes shimmer.

Annie shakes her head. "I don't understand anything that's happening right now. Brigid, what're you _doing_ to him?"

"You knew it just as well as I did," Brigid continues, and to Annie's surprise, Mitchell doesn't deny her. "It's not that I don't love you. I do. I really do."

"God, Brigid." He wraps his arms tight around her, burying his nose in her hair. "I love you, too."

"But it isn't enough," she whispers.

"Enough for _what_?" Annie hisses, prickling again at the sight of her soldier getting tears in his eyes.

"I'm no farmer, or dairy wife. I want to live in Dublin or London. I've spent so long trapped in hospital walls and my room… I can't be trapped again."

"It's all right," Mitchell's voice cracks, his eyes shut and his face still buried in her hair as he strokes it. "It's all right, love. I'll leave the farm. I'll come live with you and we'll –"

"You _can't_ leave the farm, Johnny. It would break your da's heart. It would break _your_ heart."

"I can change," he says, ushering strength into his voice.

"Don't you understand?" She smiles, leaning up to look him in the eye. "I don't want you to."

"But I _can_."

"I know you can. You've been in the trenches. If you can adapt to that, you can adapt to anything. But my hay fever gets so bad in the summer that I have trouble breathing when I'm outside. Your roof is _made_ from thatch."

"You're breathing fine now," he protests.

She lets out a soft sad sound and closes her eyes, and Annie realizes that she's crying, as well.

"Is this because of that RIC threat?" he asks.

She's quiet for some time, drawing lines on his chest with her fingernail. "Yes," she finally answers then meets his eyes. "But that only ushered in what was already coming."

Mitchell shakes his head no.

"_Yes_," she insists. "And you've always known it. Or we'd be engaged by now."

"We still can be."

"No – You're not meant for me."

Mitchell swallows hard and wipes at his eyes. "Will you _stop_ saying that? I love you and you love me and that's all there is to it."

"Then why have you never asked to meet my sisters? Why have I never met your friends? Because, deep down, you know I'm right. We're too different… and we're going different places in our lives."

Annie is rooted to the spot, feeling both vindicated and guilty for having had the same thought.

Mitchell shakes his head. "Those are details. We can work them out. We have to at least try."

"Christ, Johnny." She sits up suddenly, cursing for the first time since they've met. "I'm not the only lass in the world. I know there's someone else."

Mitchell furrows his brow, sitting up, as well. "What?"

"Whoever she is, it's obvious that you still love her."

Mitchell shakes his head. "There _is_ no one else. You're the first girl I've ever –"

"You think I don't notice that distance you get in your eyes – that small smile on your lips when you remember her?"

"Brigid, I haven't –" He cuts himself off, making Annie's body feel like electricity is darting through her as he thinks of her, even if he doesn't know her name.

Brigid smiles sadly. "I'm not jealous. I mean, I was at first. But as it became clearer… well, I didn't really expect us to last the summer."

Mitchell is quiet, his dry eyes drifting away from hers as her words finally trickle into his heart, latching onto sore and bleeding truths that refuse to heal.

"So… that's it then," he says quietly.

Brigid rises and tugs on her skirt. "That's it then. You know you can't call on me anymore with the RIC watching."

He nods, his eyes dark with sorrow as he watches her button up her blouse. Annie sinks to the floor beside his bed, dragging a hand through her hair.

Mitchell remains in bed, looking defeated as he watches her pull on her stockings and lace her shoes. Rustling echoes from his parent's room as his mother stirs. "Brigid?" he asks, his eyes sharpening. "Why didn't you say any of this… you know, _before_."

"I hardly knew they were going to knock on my door," she says.

"No, I mean, before we were… together. Like that."

"Yeah, really?" Annie asks, her voice hoarse.

"You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

He hesitates then nods.

Brigid smiles sadly. "So did I."

Annie screws up her face. "What kind of batshit logic is that? How could you willingly _do_ that to him knowing you were just going to break his heart?"

The walk to the train stop in the early morning light is quiet and tense. They don't say much as they wait, but when the train comes in sight, Mitchell seems to panic. "This doesn't have to be the end, you know. This stuff with the police – it'll blow over and we could try again."

The smile Brigid gives him is pitiful though she tries to hide it. "Yeah," she says. "Maybe."

The train pulls to a halt.

Brigid kisses him on the cheek as the doors open. "Good luck, Johnny," she whispers before boarding. He watches the train drive away, its steam billowing in the cold autumn air, his eyes shimmering.

Annie watches his face, itching to touch him, but too afraid.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**

**_Today is Memorial Day in America. I am keeping the uncounted fallen close to my heart, and honoring the sacrifices they made for the world we live in._**


	24. Smoke

**For anyone interested, Dublin's Hibernia College is offering a free course on Irish identity to anyone, anywhere, as part of The Gathering. This is intro week so if you're interested in learning more about Mitchell's culture, please check it out! There are no tests or anything, just learning for fun, and there's still time to register. Just google: "Hibernia College The Gathering" and sign up!**

**Annie's Soldier**

**24. Smoke**

Mitchell's parents assume that their son and Brigid split up because of the RIC, and his mother seems to think it such a tragedy that she has taken to crying when she's alone. Malachy is quiet and neither press Mitchell for details.

For his part, Mitchell is less of a man and more of an emotional torrent.

Annie walks closer to him than she has in months, watching him do his chores, going from shedding tears to pulling his hair to throwing things and screaming. It takes over a week, but the anger is finally what wins out, and Annie feels satisfaction as he fumes, for she is just as angry at Brigid and the world.

The girl had no right to sleep with him when she knew for certain that she wouldn't see him again. Mitchell didn't have to speak to tell Annie how used and ugly he felt. She hopes he won't turn cold, for the sampling of women he's known isn't fair. They've all taken something from him in some way, but then again, he'd never kissed a girl when they weren't on one end or another of a war. Desperate times cultivated desperate people.

In a fit of agitation, he takes the old hunting rifle he'd stored under his bed and moves it back out to the barn after looking it over once more. Annie can't blame him for his paranoia after Brigid's warning.

She watches him chop far more kindling than they'll use all month, but the cracking of the wood seems to help exorcise his pain. He doesn't stop until his hands are blistered and a veritable heap of wood sits next to him. Panting, he rests the axe over his shoulder and untucks the hem of his shirt before using it to wipe the sweat off his face despite the cold of the October night.

Annie steps closer to him as his rage is tempered by pain and self-loathing. The wounded look in his eyes is so raw that her hand rests on his shoulder for the first time in months without her even realizing it. He flicks at his bicep, as if batting away a fly, then shifts his whole demeanor when the sensation persists.

He goes still, his breathing evening out as he trains his ears on the air around him, and she knows without a doubt that he hasn't forgotten her. Brigid was right. She's the other woman.

She keeps her hand where it is and steps up in front of him, her face inches from his. Tempted as she is to whisper comfort and love into his ear, she knows nothing has really changed for them, and to trigger his obsession with her again would cause more harm than good. So she stays where she is, gazing into his eyes while the sun sets before letting go with a soft sigh and stepping away.

Mitchell reaches out a hand as she goes, as if trying to catch hers in his, but it lingers before him in the chilly air, touching nothing. He closes his eyes, muttering something in Irish, then heads inside.

Annie gives in after that and at least twice a night, pops into his room to watch him sleep.

Once the anger passes, her soldier finds his feet again rather swiftly, making her wonder over how much of his relationship with Brigid was based on avoiding loneliness rather than genuine magnetism. Thinking of her own past, she knows she had fallen into that trap more times than she cares to admit.

"Buck up, lad," Ms. Hannigan says one morning as he delivers the milk. "There's plenty of other lasses."

Mitchell sets the empty canisters from the previous day into the cart. "And you know – she wasn't about to be a farmer's wife, she said. And yet she let it go on."

"Well, one can't much blame her for that," Ms. Hannigan says with a chuckle as she jots a note down.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"You must know that you're a right handsome lad, Johnny. Though that alone is no excuse." The awkward look on his face makes Annie smirk and Ms. Hannigan furrow her brow. "Has no one really ever told you that?"

He shakes his head no.

"Well don't go letting it put ideas in your head but it's God's honest truth. Oh! Before you go, I've promised this to your mam." She bustles about, wrapping up a cheese, and Mitchell tugs at his jacket, a funny little smile on his face. The compliment has obviously done him some good.

"I've told you that you were handsome," Annie says then scrunches up her nose. "_Loads_ of times."

"Here you go. A gift for Samhain tomorrow. See how you like it and come tell me in the morning." She winks and sends him on his way.

Annie watches his face as he pushes the cart home and delights in the bemused smile there as he turns Ms. Hannigan's comment over in his head, wondering if there's any truth to it. Neither can be sure, but what sounds like a distant gunshot echoes in the distance.

That night at supper, the family digs into the new cheese and munches on it in silence. Annie raises her brows as she watches them, wondering what it tastes like.

"Hmm," Malachy finally grunts.

Una nods, locking eyes with him, but when they both take note of Mitchell's slightly disgusted face, they burst into laughter.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" Malachy says, and his son's pathetic nod of agreement with an expression that looks like he tasted a cow patty makes Malachy laugh so hard that tears spring to his eyes.

Annie surprises herself by squawking with laughter, scaring the cat.

That night, while her soldier sleeps, she strokes Kitten Annie in a form of apology and sighs.

"I like this much better than being a proper ghost who can't hardly feel. Even if it is… altruistic." She gazes at Mitchell's peaceful form with a small smile. "You will meet a girl someday, and you'll make babies, and I'll… I'll watch over them, too." She stops petting the cat and shifts to stand at his bedside. "I promise."

Blowing him a kiss, she returns to her watch on the roof. She quietly hums as she paces, her hands linked behind her. Several hours later, she has to cling to the chimney to keep from falling off as gunshots ring out in the hills, echoing to her as they crack in the cold air.

They don't wake the family, but are close enough to keep her from blinking all night. When Mitchell rises and does his chores, the ground is frigid. Annie tags along behind him, flighty. "Listen, I heard something last night," she says. "There was some sort of fight."

Mitchell pours the grain into the cattle trough, his breath clouding before him, but doesn't react.

"I just have a bad feeling," she continues, her voice rising in pitch. "The world isn't safe today."

Her anxiety doesn't seem to reach him, for a half an hour later, he is pouring the day's milk into canisters and loading them into the cart.

"Don't forget to tell her that we loved her cheese," Una calls from the door.

"Christ, don't!" Malachy barks. "Or she'll send you home with more of it!"

Mitchell chuckles softly. "Yeah – seeya then!"

"Seeya!"

Annie walks ahead of him on the road, scanning the countryside nervously. When they walk for several minutes with no sign of anything amiss, she finally calms and pops back to his side.

"Maybe I was wrong," she says quietly. "It wouldn't be the first time."

Mitchell's brow furrows slightly and he slows as he notices something she doesn't. Annie stiffens, staring intently at his face after looking around herself. Whatever it is he has sensed makes him quicken his pace, and as they step over the brow of a hill, she sees why.

Smoke.

"Shite," he hisses before dropping the handles of the cart.

The creamery is on fire.

"Oh my God," Annie gasps.

Mitchell scans the scene with wide eyes. Three Black and Tans stand outside. One is restraining Ms. Hannigan while another finishes dousing the building with gasoline, causing the flames to spread.

Ms. Hannigan wails in protest, breaking free to land feeble blows on the man with the gasoline tank. It's all the information Annie's soldier needs before sprinting down the hill towards the scene. He doesn't get more than ten paces before a gunshot rings out and he skids onto the ground. A bullet flies past and hits a canister behind him.

"Jesus," he hisses. Milk trickles out of the bullet hole.

"Get out of here," Annie growls at him. "Run!"

But the Black and Tan who shot at him is approaching now, his pistol aimed at Mitchell's chest.

"No, wait, don't run," Annie corrects, latching onto his shoulders in an attempt to keep him in place.

Mitchell's chest heaves as he watches the man approach but seems afraid to maintain eye contact. The soldier's heavy boots stop a few feet from him and for several seconds he just stands there, eyeing his target who won't look at him.

Annie glares at the man whose large ears and stubby nose make him look borderline deformed. "Back away," she snarls, her voice shaking. "_Now_."

"I have every right to kill any native that I see fit," the man says, and his English accent is so jarring that Annie can't believe she was ever once surrounded by them. "Maybe I still will." He leans down and tips off Mitchell's hat with the barrel of his pistol. "What were you thinking, boy? That you'd charge all three of us with not a weapon on you and save granny's shop?"

Mitchell fights fiercely to quell the quiver in his jaw as he focuses on a patch of road beside the man.

"_Well_?" the man barks so loudly that both Annie and Mitchell wince, though only one of them gets sprayed with his spit.

"I…" Mitchell starts. "I don't know what I was going to do."

"That's right," the man coos, and Annie narrows her eyes when his voice takes on a slight squeak that is oddly familiar. "Because you micks don't fucking think, now do you?"

Mitchell loses the battle over his jaw and its tremble seems to satisfy the man looming over him.

"Lie down on your front!"

Mitchell does as he's told and Annie watches tensely as the soldier pats him down, checking for weapons.

"Right," he barks, straightening. "Now, face me!"

Mitchell obediently rolls over, keeping his hands up to show that he's unarmed.

"Get up."

Annie steps in front of him as Mitchell climbs to his feet. The Black and Tan casually presses the tip of his pistol to the younger man's forehead.

"You won't pull that trigger," Annie snarls, wind kicking up around her. "You _won't_ pull that trigger!"

The Tan his eyes as Ms. Hannigan's weeping wafts to them with the smoke. "You look fucking foreign. Sure your whore of a mum didn't get humped by an Arab?"

Mitchell's fists clench and unclench and his whole body trembles but he doesn't take the bait.

"Sands!" one of the men calls from below.

"Come and see what I've found," Sands calls down to them, never taking his eyes from Mitchell.

His name brings back a long ago memory of George telling her that he was named after his great-grandfather, who was a war hero, and suddenly the man's comical features make sense.

"You…" Annie gulps. "You're George's… _oh God_."

Leaving the weeping old woman to the care of the gathering crowd, the other two Black and Tans make their way up the hill and surround Mitchell and his ghost.

"What do you think of this darkey?" Sands asks. "He looks part Moorish."

Annie's back is now flush against Mitchell as she grasps onto him, her eyes wide.

One of the men peers closely at him. "Looks oriental to me. His eyes are all slanty."

"He's a fucking paddy," the third says while lighting a cigarette. "They're all a bunch of sheep-fucking Indians."

Sands smiles. "You hear that, boy?"

Mitchell has yet to move a muscle and remains still even when Sands removes the gun from his forehead, leaving a red mark. Annie closes her eyes in relief.

"I served England," Mitchell begins quietly, his voice quivering. "For five years in the war. As I'm sure you gentlemen did, as well."

"_Gentlemen_?" Sands mocks. "We're _gentlemen_ now, are we? Sounds like someone's sucking up." He lunges and grabs Mitchell by the collar, pressing the gun to his temple as he growls, "The only sucking you'll be doing is my _dick_."

"I don't want any trouble," Mitchell barks, screwing his eyes shut.

Annie grabs Sands' wrist, willing all of her ire into her grip.

"Too late for that, boy," Sands growls. "Trouble's found you."

Sands shoves Mitchell away from him and the younger man stumbles but keeps his footing.

"Go on," Sands says, as if talking to a child, waving his gun. "Start walking. Lead us home to meet your mummy and daddy. I'd like to see which is the sheep and which is the monkey."

The other two men laugh and start walking behind Sands as Mitchell drags his feet down the lane, breaking into a sweat, his skin pale. Annie latches her arm around his, her mind racing over how to keep him safe.

Sands starts mockingly whistling "Rocky Road to Dublin," and Mitchell glances over his shoulder to see the gun trained on his back. Sands winks when he notices. "Keep walking."

Mitchell's legs are stiff and his eyes wide, his hands slightly raised at his sides in surrender as he trudges down the lane towards the farmhouse.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	25. Stolen Child

**Annie's Soldier**

**25. Stolen Child**

The Black and Tans make Mitchell halt when the house is in view. "Go on ahead, we'll be right behind you," Sands says. "And we'll be expecting tea."

Mitchell nods numbly before walking towards the house with Annie.

"This is your chance," Annie hisses as the distance between him and the men increases. "There must be something you can do…" Though even without the added fear of bodily harm, Annie could think of no way out from under the Tans' watchful gaze.

Closing his eyes, Mitchell mutters a prayer in Irish and crosses himself before easing open the door and stepping in to stand stiffly in the entranceway.

Una shoots him a smile from the fire, which she is feeding, while Kitten Annie rubs on her back. "You were clever to have chopped so much kindling early," she says, then blinks at him in confusion. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Mitchell's face is unreadable when a shadow falls over him as the Black and Tans approach. "Pardon the intrusion," Sands says, forcing Mitchell into the room with a hand on his shoulder and a gun at his back.

Una gasps and the kindling falls from her lap as she staggers to her feet, only to have one of the other soldiers whip his pistol out and point it at her.

Sands grins. "Is this your whelp?"

Una stands rigid with shock, her eyes unblinking. "Johnny?"

"Is this your fucking bastard whelp?" Sands screams past Mitchell's ear, making him wince.

Una nods, clutching her hands before her. "Whatever it is that he's done, please –"

"Well listen to that," the portlier of the men pipes up. "His own mother already suspects him of causing trouble."

"Well?" Sands presses. "Aren't you going to invite us for tea?"

Una looks miserably from the stove to the men. "Yes…" she whispers. "Yes, of course."

Annie scans the room for pots or other heavy objects to use against the Black and Tans as she'd done to the German in Flanders, but the men are so scattered about the room that it would be impossible to take them all out.

Una bustles over to the stove while Sands forces Mitchell to take a seat then sits himself across from him, aiming the gun at his chest.

"My husband's out in the yard," Una says in a rush. "I wouldn't want him to give you a fright."

Sands nods at the third man and he withdraws his pistol before stepping out. Mitchell closes his eyes and lets out a small gasp of despair, making Annie crackle as she rests her hands on his shoulders, standing behind him and glowering at George's great-grandfather.

"Come now," Sands barks. "Don't fret. We just want to get a good look at the man. See whose filthy foreign blood you take after."

Una turns around once the kettle is under the open flame. "Can – can I get you anything else?"

"Are you good for a shag?" Sands asks, and if Mitchell's eyes were knives they'd have cut him in two. Sands smirks at the response.

The second man finds the rifle hidden behind the coats and shows it to Sands. Before Sands can say anything, the portly soldier brings Malachy in at gunpoint. Una latches onto him with her terrified eyes, letting out a small whimper before pressing a hand to her mouth.

"Do not harm them," Annie lowly commands, feeling static energy slither from her head to her toes.

"Well he's a darkey, too, isn't he?" Sands asks, appraising Malachy. "Tell me, black, what're you doing with a gun?"

Malachy's blue eyes dart to the shotgun then to Sands. "It's just a tool," he says lowly. "Every farmer has one."

"Not anymore," the second soldier says, tucking the weapon under his arm.

"Seven of our men were killed last night," Sands says. "Two more were wounded just a few miles down the lane. But I suspect you'll tell me you know nothing about that, won't you?"

"We were in all night," Malachy says slowly. "Every one of us."

"Even the young buck?"

Malachy nods. "Especially him. He's… he's my only son, see. He does the work of many around here. He can't afford to have nights out or get into any trouble. Isn't that right, Johnny?"

Mitchell nods, his eyes dark with tension as he hesitantly meets Sands' amused gaze. The similarities he bears to George, no matter how faint, make Annie sick.

"The water's ready," Una says quietly, placing a rag on the hot kettle handle.

"Who are we fooling?" Sands says with a sudden smile. "You're semi-cognizant people. We all know the only way your kind understand questions is by having your fingernails ripped out."

Kitten Annie seems oblivious to the danger and strolls outside through the open door.

"It's the truth," Mitchell says quietly. "We don't know anything."

"Oh!" Sands' eyebrows shoot up. "So you do speak more than a little English."

"_Is fearr rith maith ná drochsheasamh_," Malachy growls to Mitchell. (_He who runs away lives to fight another day_)

Sands whips his head towards the sound, malice flashing in his eyes. "What was that?"

Una slowly pulls cups and saucers down from the shelf above the stove, but her hands are shaking.

"He told me to shut my mouth," Mitchell explains.

"That's funny, because all I heard was filth. Look around you. You live in squalor and sleep in cow shit like the vermin you are."

Annie feels the crackling on her body spreading, as if coming from all the walls. Her eyes dart to Una as she latches onto the handle of the kettle, ready to pour, but hesitates as she listens.

"You breed like rats," Sands growls. "And you can watch while my lads and I screw your whore mother."

Malachy's nostrils flare as Mitchell tenses, shaking with the effort of his self-control.

"Go to hell," Malachy growls. "And may the Devil choke you."

Sands darts his gaze to the portly man and gives a slight nod. The Black and Tan slides on a pair of brass knuckles then slugs Malachy in the gut, making the farmer double-over and fall to the ground.

"Da!"

Una moans and keeps saying "Please, no," over and over again, her hand shaking on the kettle.

"Get up, paddy," the soldier commands, and when Malachy fails to comply, he kicks him. "Get up!"

What happens next is so quick that it's all Annie can do to keep her body and mind in the same room. Mitchell leaps to his feet and while Sands is lunging for him, Una yanks the lid off the kettle and hurls the scalding water on the Black and Tans.

"_Go hIfreann lea, Bastún! Go hIfreann lea_!" Mitchell screams as Sands latches onto him, his face and neck soaked. (_To hell with you, bastard! To hell with you!_)

Una hurls the empty kettle at one of the soldiers, knocking aside the man attacking her husband. The third backhands her, sending her crashing into the wall.

"Mam!" Mitchell cries as he struggles to get away from Sands, ignoring the pistol in his hand.** "**_Go hIfreann lea_!" Mitchell screams as the larger man shoves him towards the door.

"Don't speak that _filth_!" Sands bellows, his face red. "Don't speak that fucking _filth_!"

Annie roars and the very walls of the house rattle but no one seems to hear amid Sands' screaming. He hauls Mitchell outside, his men in tow after landing another solid kick to Malachy's side. Una moans from where she hit the floor, reaching a hand out for her son as he is hauled away.

"No. No!" She drags herself towards the wheezing form of her husband as she chases after her stolen child.

Annie storms out of the house after them with a torrent of wind that blows the berets off the Black and Tans' heads. One of the men holds Mitchell by the arms, keeping him on his knees. Annie latches onto one of their arms with a sneer, and the soldier jerks it back, as if he's been shocked.

"Stand aside!" Sands growls as he readies his pistol, taking aim at Mitchell's chest as his men leap away.

Annie acts on instinct. She leaps down into Mitchell as the shot is fired and feels him jerk as the ball ruptures his skin and digs its way through muscle and bone. Her entire being screams as it wraps around the bullet, slowing its spinning to a halt before shredding his lung.

Mitchell falls on his back with a gasp and Annie doesn't reform her ghost body until she is sure the hot bullet is still.

Una shrieks from the house at the gunshot, dropping her head on her husband's chest as he coughs and struggles to get up. "_Mo leanbh_!" she wails. (_My baby_!)

Annie is only aware that she has retaken form when she realizes she is watching Una shake and the Tans strut into the cattle yard. Mitchell coughs, too stunned to do much more than take in wheezing breaths as gunshots ring out and the cattle moan.

His ghost clings to him, emotionless save for her rage as the men stroll back at the sound of an approaching motor. A whole truck full of Black and Tans slows and idles in the lane. Sands jerks his head towards it and one of his men obeys but the other readies his pistol and heads for the house.

"Leave them," Sands barks.

The Black and Tan gives him a questioning look.

"If you kill them, they don't suffer."

The other soldier nods and takes his sweet time walking to the truck, kicking dirt on Mitchell's pallid face as he passes. Once they're loaded in, the truck pulls away, and in the silence that follows, all that can be heard is Mitchell's wheezing and his mother's weeping.

Then the door to the house is kicked open all the way as Una stumbles out and sees the bloodied form of her child.

"Johnny!" she shrieks, and Annie wonders if the legend of the banshee came from the cries of grieving mothers, for she has never heard anything more chilling. Chilling. A thought. A body. _Yes_.

She blinks, as if waking from a doze, and is hit so hard by her emotions as they return to her that she falls over. For a moment, all she can do is let out a low moan.

Malachy is slumped against the wall inside, his face swelling and bleeding, a hand held to his abdomen as he tries to peer out. Una stumbles her way over to her son, grabbing his head and hugging him to her as soon as he's within reach.

"Be careful," Annie whispers as she sits up, but Una's jerky movements don't stop as she doubles over, weeping. "Be careful," Annie shouts. "He's still _alive_." She shifts to shout into Una's ear. "_Alive_!"

"Christ," Malachy whines from the house. "Is he gone? Is our boy gone?"

Una looks down at Mitchell as his hand weakly latches onto her apron. She eases him back onto the cold ground, brushing hair out of his face as she coos to him Irish.

Annie takes in her soldier's anemic, sweaty skin and tries to shove his mother away. "He's in shock, we have to help him!"

"Una?!" Malachy bellows, his voice breaking.

"He's still alive," she calls over her shoulder, hiccoughing as she forces air into her lungs. Her body trembles as she looks back to her son, but her eyes are clearing. "Right… right… we're gonna help you."

"You have to stop the bleeding," Annie commands, running her fingers through Mitchell's hair, hoping to calm him, though with the glassy look in his eyes, she doubts he's even aware of his surroundings.

Una hesitates, clutching at her hair for a moment before, looking down to the bullet wound in his chest. The wool coat is dark and wet around the hole and she sniffles as she unbuttons it. Once parted, she and Annie both gasp at the large red stain spreading across his white shirt.

Instead of unhinging her, the sight of the mortal wound seems to spur Una into a nurse. Hastily untying her apron, she wads it up and presses it to the gunshot with both hands then looks to her son's placid face.

"Johnny? Johnny can you hear me? I need you to stay awake, _a stóirín_. You have to focus on my voice, you hear me? You have to stay awake. You've been shot but we're going to take care of you. You're going to be just fine. Your mammy's here. You're going to be just fine."

Annie bows her head over his until their foreheads are touching, whimpering at the quivering desperation in his mother's voice.

Something heavy falls down beside her and she looks up, surprised to see Malachy on his knees, his teary eyes upon his son. "Oh, Jesus. Oh, Christ." He crosses himself and lets out a sob.

"Keep it together, love," Una says tensely. "We've got to bring him inside where it's warm."

Malachy nods, biting his own fist.

"Una!" a voice calls and Annie glances up to see Ms. Hannigan panting her way over, a middle-aged man on her heels. "Oh praise heaven, I thought from the gunshots that you'd all be dead."

Annie is about to bark at her for coming to gawk, even if the side of her head is bleeding from the same men, when she notices that the man with her has a medical briefcase.

"Stand aside," he says, and Malachy must know the man for he immediately obeys, even as it causes him pain.

Ms. Hannigan gasps and lets out a small moan when she gets a look at Mitchell. "No… no… no…"

Una doesn't remove her hands from the wound and the doctor praises her for it as he glances the young man over. He contorts to reach a hand under him and looks relieved when he pulls it back out without any blood. "Right. It hasn't gone clean through. We'll get him inside and take the bullet out."

Una nods and she and the doctor each take hold of an end and carry Mitchell inside. Ms. Hannigan has entered before them and doesn't notice Annie's influence as she helps fling everything from the table. They set the nearly-unconscious body on the tabletop then Malachy immediately starts trying to light all the lamps to help them see.

The doctor has taken over holding pressure to the wound and unbuttons Mitchell's shirt, peeling it aside to inspect it. He fingers the stained cloth, nodding. "It's a clean shot. It doesn't look like any fiber is missing."

Mitchell coughs then goes rigid as his face screws up in pain, filling Annie with fear.

"What's wrong with him?" Una asks, resting a hand on his shoulder.

The doctor watches him with wide eyes before lunging for the back of his neck. "Tilt his head!"

Una assists and gasps as her son vomits out blood.

"Jesus, he's dying," Malachy wails.

"His stomach must be perforated," the doctor says, easing his patient's head back down as Ms. Hannigan stuffs Mitchell's stripped-off coat under his head as a pillow. He prods his stomach then closes his eyes. "The abdominal area is rigid."

"What does that mean?" Annie and Una ask at the same time.

"It means that there is already extensive internal bleeding. He needs surgery."

"Then take him to the hospital," Malachy barks.

"He won't survive the ride!" the doctor snaps before ordering Una to resume pressure on the wound while he wipes off his hands with a towel and opens his briefcase. "I'll have to perform it here." He casts a wary eye at the unsanitary conditions.

Ms. Hannigan nods. "Right. I'll get some water boiling."

"Thank you, Ms. Hannigan. Mrs. Mitchell, be sure you press firmly – you won't hurt him."

Una nods and Malachy looks pained and useless and tucks himself away in the rocking chair by the fire, struggling to breathe past the pain in his own chest. Annie remains by Mitchell's head, running her fingers through his hair as tears clump her lashes.

The doctor has Una help him cut off his patient's shirt before readying his instruments. "I'm going to take out the bullet first, as carefully as I can," he explains, and it slowly dawns on Annie that this man isn't Irish at all, but rather sounds like he's from a high-class section of London. A dim part of her takes comfort in the fact that not everyone from her island is hell-bent on terrorizing everyone on Mitchell's. "Then I will need to repair what I suspect to be a laceration to his stomach."

Ms. Hannigan eyes the scalpel and tweezers with timidity while the doctor rolls up his sleeves and washes his hands. "Mr. Collins, I thought you only treated livestock."

"_What_?" Annie snaps as she jerks her head up from Mitchell's. "He's a _vet_?!"

"I use these tools on pigs," he explains as he hurries back to the table. "I assure you, they are similar enough in body and size to man."

"I hope you've _cleaned_ that," Annie barks as he readies the scalpel.

Collins' brow sweats as he looks from Una to Ms. Hannigan. "I'll need you both to press on his shoulders, with all your weight. I have no anesthetic, but he's clearly in shock. I doubt he'll feel a thing, and if he does, he won't be likely to remember."

"Christ, I should hope not," Ms. Hannigan says, worry in her eyes as she crosses herself once more then takes up position by one shoulder as Una does by another.

Collins nods then douses the wound with alcohol. Mitchell doesn't make a sound when he ought to have screamed, so Collins swipes away the excess then makes the cut. After seeing her lover's skin part like silk under the razor, Annie can't watch anymore. She tucks her cheek in beside his and whispers the lyrics to "If You Were the Only Girl (In the World)" over and over through her tears.

Though Mitchell tenses and grunts, gasping and struggling a few times before passing out, Collins is able to remove the bullet without causing further damage. Una closes her eyes and whispers prayers in Irish as Collins sews the hole in the stomach closed, but Ms. Hannigan seems fascinated and watches with wonder.

"Look at that," she coos when he cuts the thread, having sewn the wound shut. "You've got woman's hands."

Collins smiles faintly. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"I meant it as one," she says in awe.

With some difficulty, he binds the wound with gauze then leans back with a sigh, wiping at the sweat on his brow. "You'll need to keep him still, so don't try to move him. At least not yet. And he will most likely vomit again."

Una nods, smiling down at her son as she strokes his hair. Despite her doting expression, Annie can see terror lurking in the shadows of her eyes.

Collins has Malachy remove his shirt and sighs at the bruising on the bearded man's chest. He presses on the skin, making the farmer grunt and gasp despite his best efforts. "What happened last night?" he growls.

Collins glances up at him, hesitating for a moment. "From what I gather… IRA attacked Auxiliaries all over the county." He rises and peers at the swelling on Malachy's face before straightening. "In reprisal, they burnt down several buildings…including Ms. Hannigan's creamery, it should seem."

"Like hell it should," Ms. Hannigan says.

"But why?" Una asks. "She's nothing to do with the IRA."

"She feeds the community," Collins says softly. "It's as simple as that."

"And so do we," Malachy sighs.

"The Black and Tans…" Collins begins delicately. "Their methods of reprisal… they make me sickened with my own countrymen."

Everyone in the room is quiet as they study him. "I know the feeling," Annie whispers.

"You likely have a broken rib or two," Collins says to Malachy. "Though they don't seem to have punctured anything. Bind them, if it makes you more comfortable. But avoid much lifting or bending for some time. Rest will be your best ally in this."

"I don't give a damn about me," he replies, his eyes latched onto his son lying limp on the table. "Just save my bairn."

"That's the goal, isn't it?"

Collins packs his bag.

"You're leaving?" Ms. Hannigan asks.

"I have other patients," he replies. "Several burn victims from the fires. But I shall be back to check on him as soon as I can. Hopefully in the morning." He closes his suitcase then steps over to Mitchell, taking his pulse and eyeing the amount of blood on the floor. "It _is_ critical that he be kept warm. While I hate to move him, he ought to be closer to the fire."

Malachy nods and winces as he rises. Annie watches as Ms. Hannigan drags Mitchell's mattress into the main room and helps Malachy fix it up into a bed with some blankets. After the fire is stoked, Collins helps the two women shift his patient to the mattress on the floor then piles him up with blankets.

"He's so cold," Una whispers, her hand linked with her son's. "How can he be so cold?"

"It's the blood loss. I'm going to leave you with extra bandages. Store them somewhere dry and clean. Check on the incision every few hours. Have you any whisky?"

Malachy nods.

"Trickle a little on a cloth and dab the wound, but don't rub. The goal here is to fight off infection."

Una and Malachy nod.

"And he'll need to drink. A great deal, or the blood won't be replaced. But only after he's awake some or he'll choke. But no food. Not yet – it would do more harm than good at this point. His stomach must rest and heal."

"What about milk?" Ms. Hannigan asks.

"Yes, milk, good thinking. Milk is okay – with a bit of honey in it, I imagine. Just… nothing solid."

Annie isn't impressed with his orders but given that he's a veterinarian, she ought to expect as much.

"Well it's a good thing he was born on a dairy then, isn't it?" Ms. Hannigan says with a chuckle. Her hopeful expression shifts to confusion when Malachy and Una exchange a dark look. Annie watches the exchange with a furrowed brow.

Collins hands Ms. Hannigan the bandages then takes his leave. An eerie silence settles over the house in his absence. Una drags her eyes away from her son to rest on her husband. "Let me help you," she says, rising to her feet.

"I'm grand."

"Like hell you are."

Moistening a cloth, she gingerly cleans the cuts on his face. He reaches up to cup her bruised cheek as she does so, letting out a quiet gasp as his eyes tear up. Una pulls his head to her breast and hugs him, shaking with sobs along with him.

Annie is confused when it is suddenly dark out, but of course the day has passed without her paying it much notice since she is measuring time only by the rise and fall of her soldier's chest. At some point, the blood was mopped up off the floor, and several rags now soak in a bucket of scarlet water.

Una tries to rouse her son several times but his head just lolls from her gentle shaking of his shoulders. "Suppose he never wakes up?" she whispers, leaning back on her haunches.

"Don't talk like that," Ms. Hannigan says. "Now come have some soup."

Neither parent wants to eat but the old woman coerces them into at least a few bites of the meal she has pulled together. They invite her to stay for as long as she needs, which Annie thinks will be a while yet when she remembers that Ms. Hannigan lived in the room above the creamery. She doubts the woman has a single possession or cent to her name now, but here she is, helping her friends.

The thought makes Annie smile, for in the face of great cruelty is even greater compassion.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	26. Can You See Me?

_**I'm so happy that at least one of you signed up for the class I mentioned. It'll be so fun! And thank you all for your support of this story. You're brilliant!  
**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**26. Can You See Me?**

Mitchell startles everyone, herself included, by gagging. Una rushes to his side and tilts his head. Ms. Hannigan hands her a bowl and she's able to catch most of the foamy blood, keeping Mitchell propped upright with her knee until the heaving stops. Easing him back down, he moans slightly, and Una and Annie grin because he's awake.

Then his features screw up in agony and Annie's smile fades because he's awake.

"Johnny, _a ghrá, a leanbh_, can you hear me?" Una asks. (_My love, my child_)

Though he doesn't answer, his chest rises and falls more rapidly, his skin breaking out into a sweat.

Una runs a hand through his hair, looking him over. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes it, letting out a happy sound when he squeezes back. She looks over her shoulder at her husband. "He can hear me."

"Good," Malachy says, his voice hoarse with relief. "That's good."

Annie smiles at Una's happy face as she kisses her son's hand before tucking it back in under the blankets. He whimpers, his body tense, and Annie doesn't want to know what waking up from surgery without anesthetics is like.

Una's expression shifts to worry. "Couldn't he have left us something for the pain?"

"Whiskey won't cure what's ailing him," her husband says regretfully. "And I don't dare try."

Annie places her hands on either side of his head, closing her eyes as she tries to will the pain from his body. Ms. Hannigan helps Una spoon feed water into Mitchell's lips and doesn't stop until he has drunk a full tea cup. They leave him to rest once more and Annie releases her hold on his temples, for it doesn't seem to have done a thing to help.

No one wants to sleep, but at length they agree to watching over him in shifts, keeping the fire stoked with the kindling he had the forethought to hack apart. The sheen of sweat that lingers on her soldier's face speaks of the pain, and Annie is relieved when his mother is able to sing him back to sleep with a lullaby.

Then he wakes back up before the dawn, and there is nothing Annie or Una can do to soothe him. His tortured moans are worse than anything she ever heard in the trenches.

Una and Ms. Hannigan often have to force him to lie still to avoid making his injury worse as he twitches about, desperately hunting for an escape from the pain. He doesn't seem aware of his mother's tears or the hands pressing him down, and though they try to coax him to sleep several times, it doesn't come until the pain has run its ragged course and exhausted him.

The periods of sleep are longer than those of wakefulness, according to the clock, at least, but are miniscule in Annie's mind. One look at Una tells her that the woman is fretting her son's next period of waking just as much as she is.

When it comes again, Malachy is so distraught that he has to leave the house.

Collins doesn't arrive until the late afternoon, just minutes after Mitchell has fallen back asleep. His knock on the door causes the two women to hiss and hush him as he enters the house, as if they have a new baby. Annie smiles a little at the comical way the two skirts descend on him like hens, clucking away.

He examines the wound and assures them that all looks well, even according to the medical books he has had a chance to consult.

"Haven't you any laudanum?" Malachy asks from the doorway.

"Are you in that much pain, Mr. Mitchell?"

"Not for me – for him," Malachy gestures to his sleeping son as he shuffles inside.

Collins shoots a questioning gaze to the two women.

"When he is awake, he is in terrible pain," Una explains.

Collins sighs. "I wish I could help. I've sent in an order for morphine, but seeing as I'm a veterinarian, I doubt it will be filled." His gaze lingers on Mitchell. "You know, he doesn't look old enough to have served in the Great War."

He furrows his brows, and Annie wonders if he's thinking of the terrible irony that the country Mitchell served is now his oppressor.

"You're all doing wonderfully," he says, smiling. "Keep him drinking. Keep him comfortable – given the circumstances – and he should heal, barring infection."

"Thank you, Mr. Collins."

The man tips his hat and leaves. For the first time in a long while, Annie is thankful for being a ghost since it means that time slips and slides around her for the rest of the day. Kitten Annie finds Mitchell and curls up on his stomach and despite Malachy's protest, Una leaves her there. "It'd do him well to know he had a friend."

"He has got a friend," Annie says quietly, running her fingers through his hair. "Even if she's completely useless."

He awakens again before dinner and no one can eat through his groans. Ms. Hannigan shoos the two to bed and takes the first shift with him. She kneels at his side, blotting at the sweat on his face with a cool cloth.

"There, there," she soothes. "I've never said it before and I'm a fool for it, but I want you to know something, lad… I never had a child of my own, but if ever I had a son…"

Annie cocks her head at the old woman as her pale eyes mist over.

"If ever I had a son, I'd hope he'd be like you." She reaches down to squeeze his hand and grins when he squeezes back.

Annie smiles sadly at the sight.

Ms. Hannigan gets him to drink from a cup, but the pain is bad after that and Annie worries that Collins was wrong and that her soldier shouldn't even be drinking at all. The old woman sits by his side, talking in Irish, and though Annie can't tell what she's saying, it has the cadence of an old story that has been told many times.

Annie wanders the main room while Ms. Hannigan stokes the fire then sits down in the rocking chair with a sigh as Mitchell's moans taper off into the whimpers that always herald sleep. The ghost peers out the windows into the night, looking up at the stars. She ought to be on the roof, watching for further harm, but doesn't have it in her to leave her soldier's side.

The old woman's snores soon echo through the room and Annie doesn't blame her for sleeping now that Mitchell is quiet. "Sometimes pain is more exhausting for those who have to watch it," she muses in a whisper, leaning her forehead against the glass.

The fire snaps loudly and she peers at Mitchell over her shoulder to make sure an ember didn't land anywhere near him. She is surprised to find his tired eyes open, even if only just, as he listlessly gazes towards her side of the room.

"Poor thing can't even sleep," she whispers before shuffling about, gathering up dishes and loading them into the washbasin, knowing that everyone in the household is so tired they'll just assume each other did the tidying up.

She surreptitiously glances at Mitchell as she finishes and begins pacing again, then slows in her step as his eyes move. Furrowing her brow, she keeps her gaze trained on his, realizing with a creeping, tingling sensation that they're tracking her movement. Fixing him with wide eyes, she takes a tentative step forward, and his hazel orbs follow her.

Annie freezes, feeling as if she has feathers standing on end as the firelight flickers in his dark eyes that are boring right into hers.

"Can…" she starts quietly, "can you _see_ me?"

Mitchell's languid expression remains unchanged, but he gives a tiny nod.

Annie glances around the room, worried this is some sort of trick, and then looks back to her soldier. "Can you… hear me?"

When the small nod returns, it brings with it the hint of a smile in his eyes and the corners of his lips.

Annie goes hot and cold at the same time, and is both full of screaming and silence. Moving stiffly, as if any sudden movement might break this spell, she approaches him and kneels at his side, grinning when his eyes track her the entire time. "Do you know who I am?"

He twitches his chin to say no.

Annie reaches out to rest a hand in his hair then is suddenly afraid to touch him. Pulling her hand back, her teary eyes slide over his face, delighting in the miniscule muscle movements that she can't pinpoint but belong to a person interacting with another living, breathing thing.

She smiles a little, leaning over him with her palms braced on the floor. "Am I frightening you?"

Another twitch, another no.

"You're probably wondering who I am," she says with a small laugh as the water in her eyes spills over onto her cheeks.

His lips part, as if to speak, but it's all the reply she needs.

"I…." She searches his placid features, desperately trying to find the words to express the inexpressible. "I'm… you were the love of my life. So much so, that when I lost you in mine… I followed you here. Into this life." She smiles despite her tears. "Even if you don't know me in this life. I'm still your ghost. You're guardian."

Realization sparks in his eyes, but it's as muted as his smile had been.

"I am always with you," she whispers.

He swallows, his brows twitching as he slides his hand out from under the blankets and towards her. She looks down at the movement then rests her hand on his, and the faint lift in the corner of his lips tells her that he can feel her hand. Gathering it up in both of hers, she kisses it, grinning, until the muted emotion fades from his expression, replaced by the same placid, contented calm.

Annie slowly lowers their linked hands as she watches the firelight flicker in his eyes, realizing just how peculiar his comfort is after so much pain. He shouldn't be awake at all, come to think of it. He ought to be asleep. Not…

"Oh no…" She drops his hand and holds one to her mouth. "You can see me because you're dying."

The only change in his expression is the firelight dancing in his glassy orbs. His skin looks like porcelain it's so pale, and for a moment she stills, haunted by the beauty of his impending death. _Death_.

"No – no – no..." Pressing her fingers to his neck, she feels his pulse as his heart stutters and jumps. Snatching his limp hand back up in hers, she presses it to her chest. "Johnny, listen to me. I know it hurts, I know it hurts so much, but you can't give in. You have to keep fighting." She presses his hand to her cheek. "Because you're my soldier."

Lines start to etch into his face as the muscles tense with pain, and Annie has to remind herself that she's doing the right thing. That pain means life.

His lips part and he gasps, but the color starts to trickle back into his cheeks.

"That's it," she whispers, her hands trembling.

He screws his eyes shut and she can feel his pulse quickening. It skips a beat here or there then pounds steadily, making her grin and kiss his hand. He moans and Ms. Hannigan snorts in her sleep. Annie tucks his wrist back to his side and winces as he yelps from the onslaught of his body.

The noise wakes Ms. Hannigan up completely and she startles out of the rocking chair. "Oh, child…will God not grant you a moment's rest?"

She kneels at his side, her knee unknowingly sliding through the ghost as she takes up his hand and squeezes it to let him know she's there. A noise comes from the other room, and within moments, Una is approaching, tugging her shawl tight around her.

"He was sleeping just fine, I don't know what woke him," the old lady says.

"Actually, that _wasn't_ sleep," Annie mutters.

Una offers her a pained smile then rests a hand on her shoulder. "Go on to bed, dear."

"You've hardly slept, Una."

"Nothing can be done about that. My body has been trained to answer his cry since the day he was born."

Mrs. Hanngian sighs, looking pitifully upon the young man as he twitches. "I'll have a lie down for a few minutes. That's all."

"Grand."

Ms. Hannigan shuffles into Mitchell's room where she has a makeshift bed of straw and blankets. Once she has eased the door shut, Una surprises Annie by crawling under the blanket behind Mitchell, slipping an arm under his neck to cradle his head, the other rubbing his arm. She kisses his sweaty temple, closing her eyes as he whimpers.

"_Mo leanbh, a ghrá mo chroí_," she murmurs against his skin. "I'm here, _a stóirín_." (_My baby, my heart's beloved. I'm here, my little darling_)

Una starts to quietly sing a lullaby in Irish. Annie smiles as her soldier's forehead smooths and he stills, growing quiet, his heart slowing into a steady rhythm. She doesn't blame him, for it's about the loveliest thing she's ever heard and she doesn't doubt that she'd fall asleep herself if she could. She lets out a sigh of relief when she's sure Mitchell is asleep and stable, casting her weary eyes to Una in a thankful look. She stands guard over the two all night, her hand never leaving Mitchell's neck in case he tries to pull another stunt.

His mother's presence is like a balm, for, enveloped in her love and body heat, he sleeps longer and deeper than he has throughout the whole ordeal.

Mitchell sleeps so far into the afternoon that Annie can't resist checking his pulse now and then just to make sure he really is still alive. She's not the only one who has been made nervous, she realizes, when she catches the other three shooting him suspicious glances every now and then, even if they didn't know how close to the brink he'd come last night.

He wakes up when the family is having a meager dinner. Annie grins and rubs the back of his hand with her thumb when she sees his hazel eyes flutter open and hears him sigh as he tests his lungs. The line between his brows tells her that breathing still pains him, but he doesn't break into a sweat from the intensity.

"Hello?" she whispers, wondering if he can still hear her. She waves a hand in front of his face and tries not to be disappointed when he doesn't react. "Well… that's all right," she muses. "If not being able to see me is the tradeoff for your life, then it's a bargain I'll happily make." She kisses his forehead.

Mitchell tugs his hands out from under the blankets then stiffly shoves them back, trying to peer at the spot on his chest that is causing so much trouble. But just lifting and contorting his chest enough to see seems to pain him, and he falls back against the pillow with his eyes screwed shut.

His movement catches his father's eye and Malachy leaps from his chair, only to groan and hold a hand to his ribs. "Johnny?" He limps over and clumsily gets to his knees beside his son. "Can you hear me, lad?"

Mitchell sneers slightly. "I can smell you, too," he croaks.

Malachy barks out a laugh, for he hasn't bathed since he broke his ribs. "Did you hear that?" he crows to the women. "He says I stink!"

Mitchell smiles a little, opening his eyes, and Una bustles over. "Don't bawl like that, he's only just woken up."

Malachy grabs his son's hand and kisses it, his eyes shimmering. "It does me such good to see your eyes open."

Annie wishes she could bat them away, for her soldier seems overwhelmed by their voices and touches, but his parents realize it soon enough and give him some space. When he's managed to keep awake for several more minutes, Una snakes an arm behind his shoulders and helps him drink a shocking three cups of water before he winces and she lets him lie back down.

To the family's delight, he stays awake without much outward sign of pain for over an hour. Una snuggles in against him again in the night.

"Mam…" he tries to say, but his voice is so hoarse that it's almost indiscernible.

"Hush, none of this 'I'm a grown man' business."

To her surprise, he rests his forehead against her shoulder, and after a while whispers, "_Go raibh maith agat_."

Annie smiles, because she's heard enough of their native tongue by now to pick up on some of the speech, even if she dare not try it herself, and she knows he has just thanked his mother.

The following morning he is actually sitting up a little, and when Collins stops by, he looks so surprised and overjoyed by the sight that Annie wonders if he had secretly expected the boy to die. "You all deserve a commendation," he chuffs. "You've been splendid nurses."

Malachy seems hesitant to accept the compliment but nods curtly. "He'll make a full recovery then?"

"It looks that way, though to be perfectly honest, I don't understand how. Wounds from firearms at such a close distance are usually far, far worse. The weapon must've malfunctioned, much to your son's benefit."

"Or his ghost stopped the bullet," Annie says, "But I suppose that isn't very scientific, is it?"

"I'd say to start giving him milk, if you have any left. Broth is all right, too. But I would hold off on solid foods for another few days, and even then, only small amounts."

Una and Malachy nod. "Thank you, Mr. Collins."

Annie smirks, rubbing the back of Mitchell's hand as he watches the exchange, looking mildly offended that they're speaking about him as if he isn't in the room.

Collins tips his hat to them before leaving. Una and Malachy share a wary look before busying themselves, and Annie can tell by the glint in her soldier's eye that he hasn't missed it, even if he's too tired to speak.

And he does look tired. In fact, he looks worse than Annie has ever seen him, even in the trenches. His face is ashen and seems to have aged, though not with time. With pain and strain, and Annie recognizes the expression from people in old photographs whose daily lives were that much harder than hers, even if she was murdered.

"Well," Malachy says, donning his jacket. "I best be off, then."

"Where are you going?" Una asks with wild eyes, and Annie realizes it's the first time any of them have left the house since the attack.

"To see if the O'Riley's can't help us out. If not them, then maybe the Shannons." He steps towards the door.

"Malachy?"

He pauses with his hand on the door.

"Be careful, love."

He nods then crosses over to his wife, pulling her into a hug, kissing her neck before heading out. Annie feels a small pang, wishing she could both guard him and remain with her soldier.

When Mitchell isn't asleep, he's quietly observing the family beside the snap and hiss of the warm hearth. Annie watches his muted expression and wonders if he remembers ever seeing her. There was a good chance that, even if he did, he would think he had imagined it. After all, she didn't exactly look 1920.

He's asleep by the time Malachy returns after dark with a few bottles of milk, his face grim.

"Was there any trouble?" Una asks, taking the bottles from him while Ms. Hannigan prods the flames.

He shakes his head. "It's Tralee. The whole place is under siege."

"God save them," the old woman says, crossing herself.

Una goes rigid, staring blankly at the tabletop. "That's where Brigid lives."

"Most people are under house arrest. Businesses forced to close. But they're burning… and killing."

Both dart a glance to Mitchell, as if having the same thought that he ought not to hear the dark tidings just yet. Annie follows their gaze and runs a hand over his arm. He is fast asleep.

"Christ, why now?"

"The same night that they burned your shop," Malachy says, glancing to Ms. Hannigan, "two RIC were kidnapped by IRA. They're presumed dead… the Black and Tans want their bodies but no one will give them up."

"So they're terrorizing the place," Ms. Hannigan says, and it's not question.

Malachy sighs, taking off his hat. "I thought we'd be safe out here. I really did."

Una crosses to her husband and pulls him into a gentle embrace.

Annie leans back against the wall, closing her eyes. They may be hidden behind four walls, but there was no mistaking that they were in the middle of a battle.

* * *

Ms. Hannigan is trying to force milk down Mitchell's throat nearly the moment he wakes up. He tries to oblige but she won't let him hold the cup and it keeps spilling.

"He's not a calf," Annie snaps and the old lady seems to take the hint and eases up a bit.

"Do I _look_ like a cow?" Mitchell sputters once he can finally breathe and Annie smirks, knowing she still had a hold on him.

He insists on getting up the following day, and Annie is glad that Una is a strong farm woman, for he passes out as soon as he is on his feet and she has to catch him. By the time he has recovered, Una has given him a thorough lashing in Irish and forces him to move at half speed. It works out much better, and with her support, he manages to shuffle to the table, grinning proudly at his progress as he sits down, even if the short distance has winded him.

His mother rewards him by setting a cup of milk in front of him and he stares at it warily. "I can't drink anymore, Mam. I'm sick of it."

"Well it's all we've got, so drink up."

He sighs, staring at the creamy liquid dejectedly. "I thought Ms. Hannigan went to the shops."

"She did. As she did yesterday. But there was barely anything to be had."

Mitchell studies her with surprise, looking around the room with slightly puffy eyes. "How long have I been on my backside?"

"_Drink_," Annie commands in his ear, and he obediently takes a sip.

"Listen to you," Una scolds, "acting as if you've just had one too many lie ins when you've been shot." The look he gives her is so tired that she softens her tone. "Five days. I think. I'm losing count."

Ms. Hannigan returns, bundled up in nearly everything she owns, but she's empty-handed. "The grocer wasn't even open," she says, a gust of wind blowing in behind her, bringing with it a few errant snowflakes.

Mitchell eyes the two women worriedly, and she knows he's wondering when the last time they ate was. Annie squeezes his shoulder then kisses the top of his head, the simple action coming to her freely after having been suppressed for so long. Interference be damned – she had saved his life and he had scared the shit out of her. She deserved a few freebies.

Kitten Annie hops on the table and he arches a brow, sliding his cup over to her only to be startled by his mother slapping her hand on the tabletop, catching him in the act.

Two days later, her soldier is in the same chair, watching as his father lets in Michael O'Riley. "Afternoon," the man says in greeting then smiles at Mitchell. "Didn't expect to see you looking so well."

"I'm mending."

O'Riley hands a case of glass milk bottles over to Una.

"_Go raibh maith agat_. Won't you have some tea?"

"I must be going," O'Riley says. "Errands to run and all." He's backing towards the door even as he talks and Mitchell furrows his brow slightly at the odd behavior. "Seeya then." He dips out without waiting for a response.

Malachy stares after him. "Seeya," he mutters before running a hand over his face. "Christ, are we so tainted now that even our neighbors are afraid to be seen with us?"

Mitchell's eyes dart between his parents then settle on Una as she tucks the spare bottles into the root cellar, keeping one out to force down his throat later. "Who's gone dry?" he asks.

Malachy stiffens. "No one, lad. Finish what you've got."

Mitchell hesitates and only complies when he tires of Ms. Hannigan's eye falling on him now and again in a manner that Annie doesn't doubt she thinks is covert.

Once the old lady is napping and his mother is in her room, Mitchell shoves himself up from his seat, wincing slightly. Annie holds out her hands to steady him in a remnant habit, for he'd slip through her if he fell. He holds onto the backs of the chairs, shuffling his way to the wall where he pauses to catch his breath.

When he reaches out and grabs his coat, Annie squawks like then hen she has become while playing nurse. "Just _what_ do you think you're doing, mister?"

He bites his lip as he struggles into his coat, using many of the muscles in his chest for the first time since they were torn. Buttoning it seems too tall and order, so he abandons the task and makes his way outside and into the light flutter of snow.

By holding onto the side of the house, he shuffles out back then pauses, his breath clouding before him as he gazes out at the paddock and the lumps hidden under the dusting of snow. Their distortion makes him take a moment before recognizing what he's looking at, but Annie knows it's sunk in when his breathing stops and he freezes.

She rubs his arm, turning her gaze away from the swollen, distended bellies of the dead heifers in the yard. His skin is porcelain pale, his lips flushed red from the cold as his face hardens at the sight. Closing her eyes, she rests her head on his shoulder as footsteps approach.

"Son?"

Mitchell doesn't react until Malachy is beside him.

"Johnny?"

He turns his haunted gaze to his father, and there is something broken behind his eyes.

Malachy grimaces. "It's too cold for you to be out. Come back inside."

Mitchell doesn't move for so long that Annie wonders if he even heard his father. When he speaks, his voice is a timid whisper. "Even the calf?"

Malachy hesitates then gives a small nod before linking his arm in his and urging him to walk beside him, back to the house. Annie trails behind them, feeling a cold settle inside that has nothing to do with the snow and everything to do with the sensation that something has irrevocably shifted inside her soldier.

Once back inside, Malachy helps him sit at the table then busies himself with the fire while Una looks on in surprise, her hands in a dough. "I didn't know you two were out."

Mitchell stares at the surface of the table for some time and Annie watches Malachy shoot his wife a warning look, silently communicating what had just happened. Una casts a worried eye to her son. "Johnny…"

"_Why_," he begins, his voice warbling, "are their bodies still out there like No Man's Land?"

Una pulls her hands out of the dough. "Your father is still healing."

"Even hale I couldn't move a one of those cattle, you know that, Johnny," Malachy says, warming his hands at the hearth. "They each weigh a ton."

"The O'Riley's have a tractor," Mitchell insists. "They could've helped you at least _move_ them – or are they too afraid to even do that?"

"You can't blame them," Una mutters before going back to kneading.

"What about Jenny?" he says. "If she can pull a plow then she can pull a cow." When both of his parents refuse to answer, he drops his head in his hand, and Annie realizes they couldn't see the stall from where they had stopped. "Oh Jesus, her too…"

He claps the other hand to his face and Annie feels something in her chest tightening like a screw at the way his voice is fraying round the edges.

"This is all my fault," he moans. "All my fault."

"It isn't, lad," Malachy says from his place by the fire. When Mitchell doesn't react, he raises his voice. "Don't you ever think that."

"I led them here," Mitchell wails, pivoting to face him.

"That was their _excuse_," his father says. "And that's all you were to them – an excuse. I looked into their eyes and they had no souls. Not a one of them."

Mitchell takes in a few jagged breaths, his eyes red. "What if they come back?"

"Sure, why would they?" Una quips. "They probably think you're dead."

Mitchell steadies his voice before he replies. "Because they _can_."

Even Malachy has nothing to say to that, for he knows his son is right. The screw in Annie's chest twists a little more, and she excuses herself to pop onto the roof, feeling the urge to scout the distance to make sure they are safe, even if just for the moment.

Three nights later, after having finished a meager stew made of some lamb cuts Ms. Hannigan was able to buy, they are startled by a knock on the door. Mitchell moves immediately for the old hunting rifle he has brought back in from the barn and trains it at the door while his father prepares to answer it. After giving his son a nod, Malachy opens the door.

"I'm sorry for calling so late," comes a girl's voice, and Mitchell lowers the gun when his father steps aside, revealing Brigid.

"It's grand, come in," he says.

Annie watches with a frown as Mitchell slowly sets down the rifle as Brigid stares at him, her brown eyes roaming his face before striding over and wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug. He stiffly raises his arms to hug her back, closing his eyes and tucking his face in to her neck.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**

**____****I've been sharing photo edits of the characters on my tumblr, so enjoy! And the trailer for this story is also now on YouTube. Just search for Annie's Soldier. :)  
**


	27. I Promise

**Annie's Soldier**

**27. I Promise**

"I was so worried about you," Brigid squeaks, her voice choked with emotion. "I heard that you were wounded and I…"

She pulls away and he cups her face in his hands, relief flooding his eyes. "I was worried about you, too."

Brigid hugs him again and Annie watches Ms. Hannigan shoot Una a hopeful look. "Darling, it's the middle of the night. No trains are running. How'd you get here?"

"I got a ride to Annascaul and walked from there," she replies, pulling away and wiping at her eyes behind her glasses.

"Christ, girl," Malachy says. "You could've been killed."

Una ushers her to the hearth and sets the kettle on to boil.

"You must be frozen."

"It's all right, really," she says. "The police don't like the cold, either, so I doubt they were out in it."

"So you're sure you weren't followed?" Malachy asks, draping his coat over her shoulders.

She shakes her head no. "Didn't see a soul on the road."

"That doesn't mean anything," Annie says, folding her arms on her chest. "You could have the wrong prescription glasses for all I know."

"My God, you're mad, Brigid," Mitchell says in a mixture of awe and disapproval.

She gives him a small smile. "I had to see you. All of you," she adds. "I couldn't stay there… not after…"

Ms. Hannigan pulls up the rocking chair as Mitchell eases onto the hearth beside Brigid.

"What happened?" the old lady asks. "We've been hearing terrible stories."

Una hands the young woman a cup of tea and she whispers her thanks before staring into the steaming liquid with empty eyes for a long moment. "On Sunday we were heading for church. The RIC and Tans were parked outside in their lorries. They waited until there was a good crowd then they…" Her jaw quivers and Annie finds her annoyance with the girl evaporating. "They opened fire. They killed people. Just for walking to church."

Ms. Hannigan crosses herself then mutters a prayer, and Mitchell slings an arm around Brigid's shoulders.

"They burnt my da's shop."

"Is he all right?" Malachy asks.

She nods, steeling herself with several steadying breaths. "They claimed he had nationalist sympathies."

"Is this because of me?" Mitchell asks, his hand falling away from her.

Brigid shakes her head violently. "No."

"But they threatened you."

"They didn't even know who I was. This was different. There were IRA hiding in the village. The police were trying to flush them out. It would've happened even if we'd never met."

Malachy sighs and runs a hand over his face. Kitten Annie saunters into the room and rubs on Brigid's legs, making her smile.

Annie is tense at the news, so she pops onto the roof to stand guard, boldly facing the wind as it tousles snow through her frame.

Early in the morning, Brigid slips out of Mitchell's room where she'd slept with Ms. Hannigan and Annie pops back in to observe her. She tugs on her boots then creeps over to Mitchell, who is sound asleep, and gently prods him awake. "Johnny?"

"He needs his sleep, you know," Annie scolds from the other side of the room where she watches with folded arms.

Mitchell wakes up, wincing as he stretches and straightens into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. "What is it, Brigid?" he asks hoarsely.

When Brigid blinks at him, Annie wonders if she'd expected him to take her into his arms as he would of old, as if she hadn't done a thing to hurt him.

"I need to tell you something," she says.

He watches her warily as she settles down on the blankets beside him, her knees touching his.

"I feel like things ended… awkwardly for us," she says and he raises his brows in silent agreement. "And I said some things that I didn't really think about until later. And I don't want you to think that my being with you, like that, was a casual thing. It wasn't at all, even if I pretended it was. At the time it just felt like… it was now or never, you know?"

For the first time in the conversation, he looks like he's paying rapt attention.

"And I didn't really think we were doomed. I just always have to try to sound so smart, don't I?"

He looks up as he pretends to think. "You do have that tendency. But that's because you usually _are_ right."

She smiles a little, gazing at his face, and Annie wonders if she's noticed the age he's put on of late. "I had so hoped it would work. You're still the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep."

Annie sighs, unfolding her arms, reminded of why she can't hate Brigid. The girl really is loving him as best she can.

He swallows hard, staring at her unblinkingly.

"And I wish things were different. I wish _I_ was different."

He shakes his head. "You're just fine, Brigid."

"I couldn't chain myself to a life I don't want, even if it was for a man like you. Because you're about the most wonderful person I've ever met."

He holds his arm out to her then and she curls up into his embrace and misses his wince when she jars his wound. "I've had time to think, too," he says softly. "And you're right… you don't belong in this little farmhouse. Or even in Kerry."

"But I hate the thought of leaving you," she murmurs. "What if I never see you again? God help me, why can't I be brave like the women in my books? I ought to give an arm and a leg to be with you."

"It's tough when your competition is an immortal spirit who has time-traveled just to watch over him, you know," Annie says from her corner.

"No, you shouldn't," Mitchell says with a sigh. "You shouldn't ever have to sacrifice a part of yourself like that. Because if you do… then it isn't real anymore. Then it's a lie."

Brigid closes her eyes, her glasses askew as her cheek rests on his shoulder. "I can't fathom what man would ever want me if I can't ever bear him children."

"He's out there somewhere."

She smirks. "Your mam dropped so many hints at me."

"Jesus," he groans as he rolls his eyes. "It's enough to drive you mad, isn't it?"

She laughs softly and nods then looks pensive. "The thing is… I've watched all three of my sisters gallivant away, so excited and proud to be building their own homes with their own husbands and their own children. And whenever I visit, we don't talk about our dreams anymore. It's all nappies and schooling and bedtimes. And I don't want that." She furrows her brow and he squeezes her shoulder. "I never want that… I would feel so… useless. Ordinary. So when the doctor told me I might never have children… well." She smiles and Annie cocks her head. "He said it like a death sentence, but I felt like I was free."

Mitchell takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "There's just one thing you're wrong about, Brigid."

She shifts to look up at him questioningly.

"You may not be willing to throw your dreams away for mine, but I love you all the more for it. Because that _is_ courage. You're braver than those heroines. You walked all the way here – a solitary little waif of a woman – in the ice and sleet with the hills crawling with Tans. Christ, it must've taken you four hours. Our own neighbors won't even stand in our doorway they're so frightened of reprisal. And yet here you are."

She smiles a little then snuggles back down against him. "Well you're worth it."

"You belong in some foreign city, far away from these troubles. Somewhere like New York. Couldn't you just imagine that?"

Brigid laughs softly. "Hardly."

"Well I can. I can see you strolling the streets, amidst all those tall buildings and motorcars and electric lights. You'd fit right in."

She smiles wistfully at the image. "But you wouldn't be there."

"No," he replies softly. "Now more than ever, I know my place is here."

Sighing, Brigid pulls away to look him in the eye before cupping his face. "I'll always love you, Johnny. And I hope you find someone wonderful who can't wait to help you calve every spring. I really do. It's the least you deserve."

"Ah, don't worry about me," he says with a crooked smile. "I'm never alone."

A chorus of butterflies takes off in Annie's chest, fluttering around the screw inside as she smiles fondly at him.

Leaning in hesitantly, Brigid presses her lips to his. Mitchell closes his eyes as he kisses her back, and Annie feels the screw twist a little tighter when Brigid pulls away and slips out of the house. Mitchell stares at the closed door for a long time, his eyes shimmering but the tears never falling.

He's too upset to sleep and when Una comes out in the morning, he quietly tells her that Brigid woke him to say goodbye then left.

"While it was still dark out?" Una asks and Mitchell nods with a small sigh. His mother notices his dejected posture. "Now there's a girl who knows her own mind, make no mistake."

He smirks a little, and Annie moves to sit beside him, realizing that she never had half of Brigid's gumption when she was alive, and admiring the girl all the more for it.

The snow continues over the following week, and though Mitchell is on the mend enough to eat regular food, there is scarce little to be had and the hens are barely lying this far into winter. Una often feigns disinterest in an attempt to get her wounded men to eat her serving. Annie knows that she isn't fooling Mitchell, for he watches her with hawk eyes as she bustles about the room, leaving them to eat.

Malachy returns from the Shannons one afternoon after inquiring about buying one of their cows. Mitchell, Una, and Ms. Hannigan all look to him with expectant eyes as he dusts the snow off his jacket, but he shakes his head.

Mitchell sneers. "We're not _poisoned_."

"We're a branded house, son, and we'll leave it at that," Malachy says.

Annie starts wondering if she could steal a cow and lead it into their yard, but then they'd be accused of thievery, which would only add to their troubles.

"Da," Mitchell says firmly. "We go to the same _church_."

"We can't blame them for looking after their own," his father says, crossing over to the fire. "Besides, we have some money stored away from your military wages. We'll just have to tide ourselves over until more folk are selling in the spring."

Mitchell's voice is low. "We can't eat money, Da." He shoves up from the table and stalks outside, letting the door slam behind him.

"Try making a little more noise," Malachy calls after him, only to receive a scolding look from his wife.

The screw tightening in Annie's chest turns a bit more with each passing day that Mitchell is restless and agitated in a way that has little to do with their hunger. He reaches a breaking point when O'Riley comes by with milk and news that at least fourteen people were killed at the Gaelic Football match at Croke Park in Dublin when the Black and Tans and RIC opened fire on the crowd. Though Annie can tell her soldier is fuming, he waits until their company leaves before pacing.

Una watches him with worry while Ms. Hannigan tucks herself away in his room with her rosary beads, praying for the victims. "Johnny…"

He bites his lip, shaking his head, his voice barely contained. "I'm done. I'm so sorry, but I'm done. I can't do this anymore."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Malachy asks.

"I can't take it," Mitchell seethes, his voice warbling, and Annie keeps her distance. "I'm sick and tired of hiding out in this house like a frightened rabbit."

"We're not hiding, son. We're surviving."

"Yeah," he agrees with a nod that shakes his curls out of place. "You are. And that's just fine. You're not a part of my generation. I have a responsibility that I've been shirking –"

"Hold up now," Una tries to interject.

"No! I'm done – I… I can't turn a blind eye to this anymore, Mam. I _have_ to fight."

"That's enough," Malachy bellows, slamming his fist on the table. "Do you want to sound like a rebel?"

"I already _am_ a rebel, Da. Not just to the RIC but to the O'Rileys and the Shannons for Christ's sake. So it's about time I acted the part."

"Johnny, I agree with your father," Una says in a rush. "We're only just picking up the pieces. There's no need to go rushing into things."

"This isn't _rushed_," he says, dropping his voice to a pleading tone. "I have military experience. I should be out there with Michael Collins, helping train lads, not –"

"Training them for what?" Malachy growls. "More killing?"

Mitchell shrugs helplessly, his voice soft. "It's war, Da. And if someone's got to die, it'll be them, not us."

"Johnny, do you hear what you're saying?" Una asks, tears in her eyes. "You're talking about men's _lives_ here."

He furrows his brow, his face flushed. "And what exactly do you think I _did_ in the trenches, Mam? Tied my shoes? Cleaned my uniform?"

She shakes her head then has to look away from the intensity of his gaze and Annie feels the screw inside tighten all the more.

"That was different," Malachy says. "It was a sanctioned war for –"

"Sanctioned?" Mitchell gasps. "You really think we can wait around for them to give us _permission_ to fight for independence? You saw what they did to you – to me – to Mam and Ms. Hannigan. I fought with those men. I served their God-damned country for five miserable years. I saw things that I can never forget, I _lost_ things that I can never replace. And they repay me by kicking down our door and threatening to rape my _mother_?"

Una lets out a small sob and Annie rests a hand on her shoulder then rubs her arm, even if the woman can't feel it.

"Look," Malachy begins quietly. "I understand why you're angry, but that doesn't give you the right –"

"I have every right –"

"—To abandon us!" Malachy finishes with a snarl. "Not after we've almost lost you. Not now."

Mitchell slowly shakes his head, his eyes shimmering. "It's still _my_ life, Da. And I can't live it just to please you. I have to do this. For me, for you, for Mam. I'll never be able to live with myself if I don't take this chance."

Una covers her face with her apron, turning her back on what must be her worst nightmare.

"Look what you're doing to your mother," Malachy growls.

"I know," Mitchell says, tears in his voice. "And I'm so, so sorry, Mam. But I love you too much to stand by and watch everything we hold dear be ripped away by the hands of these monsters. Enough is enough."

Malachy fixes him with a hard stare, but the quivering of his jaw belies his fear. Annie gazes into Mitchell's eyes as she cautiously approaches him, and the screw within twists so hard that she worries something vital will break, just as it has in his eyes.

The snow stops in the night and Mitchell is packed and ready at the first light of dawn. He sits at the hearth, stroking Kitten Annie while he waits for his parents to rise. Ms. Hannigan is up first and bustles about, making tea and pretending it's a morning just like every other. When the cat trots away to clean herself, he watches her with sorrowful eyes.

Malachy and Una come out in their nightclothes when they hear Ms. Hannigan puttering about. Malachy barely shoots his son a glance. "I thought you might've snuck off in the dead of night like you did last time you wanted to fight."

Annie does a double-take. "I haven't heard this story. You ran away to enlist?"

"I did it for the money," Mitchell mutters, and Malachy sighs but doesn't bait him further.

"Let me fix you some eggs," Una says but Mitchell shakes his head.

"I should be going or I'll miss the early train."

"I don't suppose you'll tell us _where_?" Malachy asks.

"Cork," Mitchell replies, rising and slinging his pack over his shoulder. "But really the less you know, the better."

Malachy rubs his face and Annie finds herself wondering how they can even get through this moment. She wishes they knew that there was little reason to fret because their boy had a guardian angel watching over him.

Mitchell hugs his fat kitten for as long as she'll allow before setting her back down.

Ms. Hannigan is the first after that to acknowledge their reality. Shuffling over, she catches his face in her hands and kisses both cheeks before muttering what sounds like a prayer in Irish and crossing herself.

"Mam?" Mitchell says, staring at the floorboards. When he looks up, Annie is surprised that for once there are tears in his eyes while Una's are clear.

She holds her arms out for him and he crosses the room, falling into her arms with a small, desperate gasp. "_Mo leanbh, Á, tá mo chroí istigh ionat_," she says into his hair, her voice strained. (_My baby, my heart is within you_)

He pulls away with a shaky gasp and she holds his face, gazing up at him with radiant admiration for some time, as if memorizing his features. She kisses his cheeks and forehead and chin then hugs him once more.

"Promise me you'll come back?" she whispers, and Annie lets out a soft sound, tears staining her cheeks.

Mitchell nods and sniffles, pulling away to make the vow looking her in the eye. "I promise, Mam."

She nods, smiling, and looks as if she wants to pull him to her again but knows that she won't let go.

Turning to face his father, he wipes the tears from his cheeks and looks into his eyes. The bearded man gives him a curt nod. "Good luck, son."

Mitchell nods back then shuffles towards the door. Annie follows him as he turns the handle.

"Johnny?" Malachy calls before striding across the room and yanking him into a bear of a hug, making Annie whimper. He clings desperately to his son, tears slipping onto his cheeks, his fingers digging into the wool of his coat. "God, I love you, boy," he squeaks out.

"I love you, too, Da."

Malachy takes a large breath and forcefully shoves himself away from his son, turning on his heel to wipe at his tears as he returns to his wife's side before looking back at Mitchell.

Annie shakes her head as the four gaze at each other. "I love you all," she whispers. She blows them a half-hearted kiss, certain now that the screw inside has cracked something irreparable.

Mitchell's jaw quivers as he meets their gazes with a small nod before forcing himself to look away and step out the door, his ghost on his heels.

* * *

_**Please share your thoughts!**_


	28. That's My Story

_**And now for a horror story. While shifting things on my desktop around one night about a month ago, somehow my one copy of this story shot into the trash and I emptied it without noticing. No recovery software worked, and like a fool, I hadn't backed it up anywhere. I don't think I've ever been reduced so such a tearful, wretched state as I was by having deleted this story... I felt as if I killed everyone in it! Luckily, I was able to restore an older version, but still lost a day's work. So everything from the moment Mitchell glimpsed Annie when he was near death until now was painstakingly re-written. Including his farewell to his parents, which was difficult to write since it hit close to home and I didn't want to have to revisit it. Alas! I blamed Herrick for the whole mishap (and still do). So take this as a warning: ALWAYS e-mail yourself your work every night and back up your writing!**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**28. **_**That's**_** My Story**

Once in Cork, it's more difficult to locate Danny and Rory than Mitchell seemed to have counted on given the irritated way he keeps stretching his jaw. Annie can't blame people for being hesitant to give out information when their own countrymen are fighting on the side of the enemy in the RIC. He gives up on looking and instead takes to warming a seat in the pub he and the boys went to several months back.

"Good thinking," Annie says. "He's bound to come back sooner or later."

Then three days and nights go by with no sign, and Mitchell grows even more agitated, for he didn't break his parents' hearts to sit in a smoky pub. He's just about to leave late the third night when a loud, husky voice enters, calling for a pint.

Jerking his head over, Mitchell grins when he recognizes Danny and sure enough, fair-haired Rory is in tow. Tugging his hat low over his eyes, Mitchell makes to sidle past them and intentionally hits Danny's shoulder with his. "Excuse me."

Danny shoots him an annoyed look then his eyes light up and he lets out a loud guffaw. Mitchell laughs and the two embrace.

"Grab a round," he says, "I'll meet you at the table."

"Sure thing!"

Mitchell takes a seat at a small table by the window and Annie watches Danny and his brother snare their drinks and make their way over with curiosity. The IRA wasn't exactly advertising, after all.

"So," Danny says after sliding into his seat and taking a chug of his drink. "What the hell brings you back here? Visiting my brother?"

"I haven't seen him," Mitchell answers.

"Did you just get in then?" Rory asks.

"Few days back."

Danny fixes him with a perplexed expression. "And you haven't seen Fergie or Fat Sean?"

Rory snorts and Mitchell raises his brows. "Is he now?" He chuckles. "To be honest… I was thinking I wouldn't see him. Don't need to be stirring up any more trouble for him."

"What do you mean?" Rory asks.

Mitchell hesitates, peering around at the emptying pub before leaning in a little. "You lot know I know my way around a rifle."

Rory shoots Danny an excited look but the older of the two still has his eyes latched onto Mitchell's. "Well _stop_ the presses," he says. "I never thought I'd see the day that you'd leave the farm, let alone…"

"Yeah," Rory adds with a little chuckle. "Fergie's always going off about how uptight you are."

Annie and Mitchell furrow their brows. "I'm not uptight," he says, leaning back.

Rory laughs.

"Just because I don't like getting hammered all the time doesn't mean I'm uptight," Mitchell insists.

"What's changed your mind?" Danny asks, narrowing his eyes.

Mitchell takes in a slow breath. "I've got nothing to lose. And our people have everything to gain."

"He fought the Huns," Rory mutters to his brother.

"You ever met a fella by the name of Tom Barry?" Danny asks.

Mitchell purses his lips then shrugs. "Can't say that I have."

Rory and Danny exchange a look and Annie narrows her eyes as something unspoken passes between them.

"He fought in the Great War," Rory says.

"Where?"

"Mesopotamia."

"That's enough," Danny scolds then shoots Mitchell an apologetic look. "It's not you. It's just that… much more ought to be from Tom himself."

Mitchell nods. "I understand. When can I meet him?"

The lads exchange another look.

The following day, Danny meets up with Mitchell at an arranged street corner, and Annie stays close as they make their way out of the city and into the quieter country lanes. Danny smokes more than he talks, which is odd for the loudmouth, and his quietness puts Annie on edge.

They pass a herd of dairy cows and her soldier's gaze lingers on them as he passes, and Annie knows he's thinking of home and loss.

"Right up ahead," Danny says. But there are no visible houses in the distance.

At length they approach a fern-covered hill. Danny walks Mitchell part of the way up before latching onto his sleeve to stop him. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he coos like a dove then listens. Moments later, there's an answering coo.

Both Mitchell and his ghost blink in surprise when suddenly the hill before them is full of men slowly rising. Mitchell smirks a little at how well they were hidden. Danny slaps his back then leads him into the midst.

Annie counts thirty odd men and tenses for they're all armed. One waves a small group over and approaches. "Danny, is this the man from Dingle?"

Danny nods then gestures to Mitchell. "Johnny Mitchell, this is Tom Barry. Johnny, this is Tom."

Mitchell's gaze flicks over the other man, undoubtedly thinking the same thing Annie is: the lad looks far too young to have even set foot in a trench. Mitchell reaches out to shake his hand but the action earns him several rifle barrels pointed at his face.

"Whoa there," Annie warns, eyeing the four guns trained on her soldier.

Tom surveys him, his body relaxed, though Danny seems surprised by having guns pointed anywhere near him. "Tom?"

"You should know something, Johnny," Tom says to Mitchell, ignoring Danny as one of his men pats the Johnny down. "Danny and Rory vouch for you, which is why you've come this far. But I'm not convinced by this sudden change of heart. You understand why this makes you look suspicious, of course."

Mitchell nods minutely. "Of course."

The man steps away, giving Tom a nod to say Mitchell's clean.

"He's not a spy," Annie squawks.

"So what's your story, then?"

Mitchell glances at the rifles aimed at him then slowly shrugs off his pack and unbuttons his coat. Annie furrows her brow, wondering if he's about to donate his best jacket to the cause. He tosses it aside then shrugs off his suspenders and unbuttons his shirt. Tom watches with a curious look in his eyes until Mitchell reveals the fresh skin starting to scar on his chest.

"Black and Tans," Mitchell says while Tom gazes at the ugly wound. "_That's_ my story."

Tom looks him in the eye with a twinkle of admiration. "Right you are. Now put your clothes on and get your arse in line, we're not running a peep show." He waves to his group of men and they lower their rifles.

"Jesus," Danny mutters, raking a hand through his brown hair.

"Yeah, thanks for not killing us," Annie shouts at Tom's back. "_Him_, I mean."

Mitchell shoots Danny a crooked grin before buttoning his shirt back up as the men begin drilling in the distance.

Annie watches Tom study Mitchell whenever he can throughout the day and knows her soldier has taken notice, as well, even if he doesn't stare back. Mitchell tries hard to learn all the other men's names but most seem suspicious of him, for which neither he nor Annie can blame them. They're nearly all locals, and most have known each other since childhood, making Mitchell the shady newcomer in more ways than one. Not that the volunteers are that far out of childhood.

Not a man present looks to be over thirty, which reminds her of the dead, disfigured faces she saw littering No Man's Land. She hopes that none of these lads meet a similar end, and is tense at the thought of witnessing more death and killing.

To Annie's surprise, Danny is considered a veteran and has his own group of men drilling in the distance, Rory among them. Tom drifts from pocket to pocket in the hills, observing and rectifying where needs be. Mitchell has been placed in a group of green volunteers, led by an open-faced man named Paddy O'Brien. Her soldier's military experience shines in his ease with the unloaded rifle given to him, and his instinct to keep his head down.

Annie narrows her eyes as she watches him amidst the steady drizzle, thinking he looks like a hunting panther. A dark part of her wonders at how much his military training helped him stalk his victims as a vampire.

Something flashes in the ferns for the second time and O'Brien blows a whistle, ending the drill and calling the lads back to him. A few minutes later, they stand at attention and O'Brien approaches a red-head.

"Jacob, it's your rifle that's glinting, alerting half the countryside to your whereabouts. If I was a Tan I'd have shot you dead."

Jacob looks at his feet, his shoulders drooping a little.

"Get some tar on it."

"Not tar," Mitchell says quietly, drawing their attention to him.

"Have you got something to say, Kerry man?"

Mitchell hesitates, and Annie knows he's holding back from nitpicking their shoddy excuse for military order. "Tar is heavy and retains heat. It could increase the risk of misfire."

O'Brien arches a brow. "Do you have an alternative?"

Mitchell nods. "Wax."

"Wax?'

"Like the stuff for floors. You can buy it by the tin. Rub it all over your gun but don't polish it. Leave it cloudy and it'll dampen the glare and waterproof it at the same time." When the eyes of the other men linger on him curiously, he adds. "It… rained a lot in France."

O'Brien sizes him up for a moment, and Annie knows he must've noticed just how much more advanced Mitchell is compared to the rest of his men. He nods slightly, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "Resourceful answer."

Mitchell nods back, and Annie smiles, because from that moment on, the suspicious glances cease.

"Clever tip that, with the wax," Tom says to Mitchell that evening when the men are dispersing in small clusters so as to not draw much attention from any passerby they may encounter. "First time I've heard it."

Mitchell shrugs a little, and Annie can tell that he's struggling over how to address a man who commands such respect outside of the military. "We used what we could, when we could."

Tom nods then lights a cigarette. "How long were you in a fox hole?"

"The whole thing." Mitchell hesitates. "I wasn't… getting on with my da and somehow thought I could, I dunno, make him respect me or something by being a soldier. The wages didn't hurt."

Tom makes a small sound, as if weighing Mitchell's answer then shaking his head. "You were smarter than me. I just wanted to hold a gun and see the world." He shrugs. "And see what the war was like." He shakes his head. "I was a stupid damn kid."

"How old were you?" Mitchell asks, and Annie can't help but wonder how any lad could be so foolish as to think there was anything glorious in getting shot at every day. Then again, coming from a farm like Mitchell wouldn't give anyone an idea of what to expect on the Front.

"Seventeen," Tom answers. "I joined a year in."

Mitchell nods stiffly, though she can see the same surprise in his eyes that she feels. Tom Barry, leader of the 3rd West Cork Brigade, is only twenty-one years old.

"What was it like for you?" Mitchell asks. "Over in the desert?"

"Hot. Horrible, like everywhere else, really. We were outside of a city called Kut-el-Amara – how's that for a tongue-twister? – when I heard word of the British turning their own guns against our own people in 1916." He shakes his head as he exhales a jet of smoke. "I knew nothing of our history until I came home and started reading. That's when I became a nationalist. That was _my_ change of heart."

"We're not _all_ assholes," Annie says. "Most English people are, well… we're decent." She rocks back on her heels as Tom offers Mitchell a cigarette and he politely refuses.

"So how did you come by that scar?" Tom asks. "A knife?"

Mitchell shakes his head, his eyes growing dark, exposing the brokenness behind them. "Gun. They set fire to a creamery that bought our milk. I tried to head over to see if the old lady who worked there was all right. They shot at me, followed me home and…" He can't meet Tom's eyes anymore and Annie hugs his arm. "The killed all our livestock. Beat my parents. Threatened my mam. When I tried to fight back, one of them pressed a pistol to my chest and fired."

"Jesus," Tom breathes. "You should be dead at that close a range. You're one lucky bastard."

Mitchell smirks.

"Yes, he is," Annie says proudly from his side. "The lucky part, I mean. Not the other one."

"And I'm glad of it," Tom continues. "It's nice to have another military man around."

Mitchell nods. "I'm glad to help. In any way."

And that's it. By the following morning, Annie's soldier has not only been accepted into their ranks, but is looked up to for his expertise. By the end of the following day, Tom is regularly pulling Mitchell aside and consulting guerilla techniques on how to best defeat the English military beast that they were both once a part of.

Annie watches Mitchell slowly gaining in confidence and stepping up, interjecting when needs be and guiding the young men. Two weeks ago, when he was lying before the hearth, so weak and pained, she never thought they would wind up here. But life is funny like that.

As Mitchell swears an oath of allegiance to the IRA, she can't help but wonder if Brigid's strength and determination to walk her own path has influenced him in following his heart, and she wonders if she could ever have been that brave before she died.

Watching him now, she'd think Mitchell was a natural-born leader. And she supposes he was in his alternate life, as well, for he managed to corral the vampires of Bristol and get them to go clean. But he treats the men around him like equals, despite their awkwardness or inexperience, and when there's correcting to be done, he does not shame them.

Tom, on the other hand, seems to enjoy raising his voice. More than once, she catches Mitchell and the others shooting him vaguely put-off looks while he verbally lashes a volunteer. She wonders if he feels the need to aggressively assert his points because of his youth, or if it is how he was treated in the military.

She often leaves the men to drill and climbs trees and hills to keep watch on the road. On one such afternoon, she smiles, wondering at how bizarre her existence has become.

"Annie Sawyer," she says to the wind. "The girl who fell down the stairs, standing guard over farmers and builders and students. Standing guard over a rebel army."

The very act of assembling is illegal. If the Black and Tans catch them, she has no doubt that they'd all be executed on the spot. Peering down at the young men, her hair blowing across her face, she wonders at their courage and their youth. And in that moment, despite her tender age at death, she realizes just how old she feels.

"Living in two lifetimes will probably do that to a girl," she muses. Though she still feels tight and somewhat broken inside, the sensation isn't as intense when she is up high like this. Instead, she just feels… tired.

Mitchell is tired, too. The blood loss leaves him short of breath at times, and his face wan. It would take him months to fully recover, and in these moments when his body warns of failure, she wishes he had waited to leave home until he was healthy. If Tom notices his rare outward signs of weakness, he doesn't say anything, and Annie wonders if he was ever injured in the war.

By the end of a week, the lads are disciplined and attentive, though for what, no one aside from Tom knows. Until they are asked to assemble in a house in Ballineen at two-thirty in the morning. The exhaustion from the week of training shows on Mitchell's face as he walks with Danny and Rory down winding country roads to get to the house.

A priest on a horse waits outside.

"What's he doing here?" Mitchell asks.

"To hear our confessions," Rory mutters.

Annie feels the screw inside dig a little deeper as she eyes the priest. "So…" she says. "Whatever it is you're doing… there's a good chance you'll die. Perfect. Just perfect."

Mitchell looks too tired to be put off by the precaution, and heads inside with Felix's brothers. Annie sticks to his side, just as eager as the rest of them to hear what they're about to do.

At three in the morning, Tom stands before them, his expression taut. "First it was the Tans. Now Churchill has sent Auxiliaries. They raid our villages for sport – firing shots at innocents in the fields, forcing men to strip naked in the streets, killing where they please… Because our people are loyal and won't give us up. They're bearing the brunt of this terror for the cause. And all the while, we've hardly fired a shot at the bastards. But that's all about to change."

Annie scans the room, counting thirty-six men, all paying rapt attention, including her soldier who seems much less tired now that they are on the verge of something.

"They love to head out on Sundays, and tomorrow's a Sunday. We have thirty-five rounds for every rifle and two mills bombs. That might not sound like much, but our courage will make up for what we lack. This is what you signed up for, lads. Tonight, we walk. Tomorrow… we attack these sons of bitches and hit them hard between Macroom and Dunmanway."

There are no cheers, but several emit happy sounds and exchange excited glances. Mitchell, however, has a hard look on his face, matching Tom's, and Annie is reminded that they are the only two who could possibly have much idea of what they're getting into.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts! _**

**_Those of you who know your Irish history will know what they're about to do, and the rest of you will find out next chapter! ;)_**


	29. Kilmichael

_**I'm so happy to hear that so many of you will be joining me in the online course on Irish Identity. It will be great craic! :) We should form our own group!**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**29. Kilmichael**

One by one, the men file out of the house and speak to Father O'Connell, their rifles slung over their shoulders as they air their confessions. The somber affair puts a damper on the news of the impending attack as they return to stand at attention. Annie eyes Mitchell curiously as he waits in line to see the priest on the other side of the ditch, wondering if he's acting out of peer pressure.

When it's his turn, he and priest cross themselves. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Mitchell says. "It has been…" He hesitates, bowing his head. "More than five years since my last confession."

The priest sighs softly and nods, and Annie is relieved by the understanding look in his eyes, and realizes that, unlike the Father in Tralee, this man is truly driven by compassion.

"I've killed men," Mitchell says quietly, still not looking up. "In the trenches. I've lain with a woman out of wedlock." His cheeks burn in shame as he forces himself to look up, his eyes settling on the small white square on the priest's collar. "I've had… I participated in a séance and tried to perform my own dark magic to… summon a spirit from the other side who I thought might be a lover. So I suppose I ought to add impure thoughts to the list. No, _definitely_ add them."

Annie rests her hand on his arm, feeling like a stranger upon hearing that she is, apparently, a sin. "Oh how far you fell over the last hundred years," she murmurs.

"And I've spoken badly," he says, looking up to meet the man's gaze with shimmering eyes. "About other people. And… and I have this hate inside of me that burns for the Tans. I know it goes against God, but I _want_ to kill."

The priest keeps his blue gaze latched onto Mitchell's until he is certain that the other man is finished. "Ten Hail Marys and you are absolved," the priest says before starting to cross himself.

"That's it?" Mitchell asks in shock, interrupting him.

The priest studies him with empathy before resting a hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes we are prisoners of our choices. Other times, we are prisoners of the era in which we live. The war dealt you a hard hand, my son. You are absolved."

Annie is surprised by the fervency of the relief in Mitchell's eyes. He crosses himself then heads over to the ranks of men, muttering his Hail Marys. While Annie is surprised that he is taking his faith so seriously all the sudden, she is happy that confession seems to have brought him peace.

"Blessed art thou among women," he mutters, his head bowed, and he hesitates, his fingers inching in her direction. She doesn't miss the movement and slips her hand into his, causing him to look down at his own fingers with a smile. Annie squeezes it, and for a moment the tightness inside is gone as she knows that he's aware of her presence.

Once the men are done, Tom moves to stand before their ranks as the priest steps out into the road on his horse. "Thank you, Father."

"Are the boys going to attack the _sassinak_, Tom?"

Annie looks up at that, and by the smirks the word draws from the Irish faces, she's sure it's a cruel term for her countrymen.

"Yes, Father, we hope so," Tom answers quietly.

The priest nods, his eyes drifting over the lads, and Annie waits for him to say some parting words of prayer for their soon-to-be tainted souls.

"Good luck, boys," he says instead, raising his voice. "I know you will win. God keep you all. Now, I will give you my blessing." He crosses himself then rides off into the darkness, leaving Annie wondering if there is such a thing as God, or any overarching life force, and if in the scheme of things, killing is ever accepted.

The men follow Tom and start their long march as rain begins to fall. Annie sticks close to Mitchell's side as they head down the country lane then hop a fence to take a shortcut through several fields.

The locals whisper as they go, debating side-routes that avoid the main roads, and Mitchell stays quiet, having no knowledge of the lay of the land around them. The men don't speak other than to give directions, and as the rain pelts them, she worries that Mitchell in particular, in his weakened state, will get hypothermia. It's difficult to see his face in the darkness, but he holds up well for the first few hours.

The men hunker down in a ditch to hide the smoke from their cigarettes as they take a moment to rest and regroup. Annie lays a worried hand on Mitchell's back when he sinks onto the ground, winded.

"We've talked it over and we've no way around it," Tom hisses to his men. "We've got to cross the Cork-Bantry line. It's a main road which means it could be crawling with Auxies. A few of us are going ahead to scout, so you lot hold tight." Tom nods at Danny and O'Brien. His eyes settle on Mitchell, but upon seeing his struggling state, lets them slide away and picks out another lad to accompany him instead.

Mitchell clamps his lips tight and tries to steady his breathing, and Annie knows he is fighting back his frustration over his own body. Hugging him, she rests her head on his shoulder.

"It's all right, _a stór_," she soothes. "You're doing grand." (_Darling_)

The trio returns with the news that the road is clear for the time being, and while Mitchell rises without a problem, he can no longer keep up with the front of the flying column and sticks to the back. Annie can almost feel the shame and irritation radiating from him.

"It's not your fault," whispers, her voice drowned out by the rain.

The men divide into clusters and dart across the crossroads group by group, until all thirty-six are on the other side. From there, it's three more miles until they reach the hills surrounding the road at Kilmichael at eight in the morning. The winter sun is only just rising, lightening the rainclouds as the men regroup in the hills.

Tom splits them into commands of roughly ten each and sends them to strategic posts on the hilltops. The remaining men are sent to cover the flanks, in case more British turn up. Tom keeps O'Brien, Danny, and Mitchell with him at his post nearest the road.

The rain finally lets up as the sky grows light enough to see, but the men's breath is coming in clouds. They hunker down in their positions, curled in on themselves as much as they dare, desperately trying to keep warm as their clothes stiffen with ice and frost. In the growing light she can see just how haggard her soldier looks, and wishes desperately that Collins had had the knowledge and resources to perform a blood transfusion.

Mitchell leans against his rifle as they wait, his eyes slipping shut. Tom notices when his breathing evens out in sleep and shoots Danny a worried look.

"How long ago was he wounded?" Tom whispers.

Danny thinks for a moment then whispers back. "Three weeks, I'd say. It was the night it all went to hell over there with the Tans attacking Tralee."

Tom nods gravely, studying Mitchell with a concerned gaze before returning his attention to the road below him. Annie is poised at her soldier's side, ready to crawl inside and wake him at the first sign of the enemy.

But the day crawls on with not even a vehicle in sight. At one point, the family in a nearby house sneaks out with buckets of steaming tea they give to the men. Danny nudges Mitchell awake and holds the dipper out to him. He blinks around in surprise, wondering how the tea got there, then a look of fear flashes over his face as he realizes he fell asleep.

He takes the tea with a quiet "Thanks," having a drink of the blessed warm liquid before passing it on.

As he repositions himself, Tom watches him out of the corner of his eye. "Steady on, Johnny. You've not missed a thing." He keeps his gaze trained on the road instead of the man beside him. "But close your eyes again and I'll flog you myself."

Mitchell nods submissively, his voice sheepish. "It won't happen again."

"I know."

Annie sneers at Tom and would've tried to pull out his hair for the threat if she didn't assume it was an empty tribute to discipline in front of Danny and O'Brien.

Mitchell's cheeks flush with shame all the same, and he remains alert as a hawk for the rest of the afternoon. The brief sleep has done him some good, Annie thinks, for there is an edge to his movements that she hasn't seen since the days in the trenches, awaiting the order to go over the top.

Tom sighs, and then does a double-take when O'Brien unbuttons his coat to tuck away a note of scripture he'd been reading. "Where'd you get that?" he hisses, gesturing to the green of his uniform.

O'Brien grins then whispers. "It belonged to a British Colonel. My aunt's a dress-maker. She tailored it just for me."

Tom's eyes light up. "May I borrow it?"

O'Brien tucks his chin in to his chest. "Of… of course."

The two hastily swap clothing, keeping low so as to remain concealed. "Wait for my command," Tom orders, and then slinks down onto the road. Mitchell smirks as he notices, along with Annie, that from a distance, Tom looks like an English soldier.

The cold seems to be eating at everyone's morale until, eight hours into their frigid wait, the sound of a motor echoes through the hills in the dusk light.

A horse and carriage arrives first, with two men come to join the ambush, and Tom only just waves them off the road and out of sight before the first lorry comes into view. Mitchell and the lads around him tense as Tom relaxes, behaving for all the world like a stray soldier happy to see his comrades approaching.

The truck slows, and Tom offers the men inside a grin before slipping the pin out of a mills bomb and chucking it into the back. In nearly the same motion, he withdraws his pistol and fires upon the driver before blowing his whistle. The grenade goes off with an explosion as the hills around the vehicle erupt with rifle fire.

The second lorry speeds up, heading to the soldiers' defense. It's all happening so fast that Annie can hardly keep up with the cacophony of noise and screaming from the wounded. Within minutes, all nine Auxies in the first truck are dead, and those in the second have had a chance to pull out their weapons and are firing back into the hills several yards down the road.

Several have sprung out of the vehicle and a trio flag down Tom with a chorus of "We surrender! We surrender!"

Tom blows the whistle again, signaling a ceasefire. The groups rise and start spilling down from the hills to capture their prisoners. Annie is nearly glued to Mitchell's side as she scans the scene for threats while her soldier, Danny and O'Brien approach. Three Englishmen watch the IRA warily as Mitchell and Danny approach to disarm them.

Annie darts in front of Mitchell, shrieking a warning as the three Englishmen suddenly go for their guns, but it's too late. They open fire, catching the IRA around them off-guard, and by the time Tom screams to return fire, three volunteers have been shot.

Mitchell screams, his voice tearing Annie at the seams, for she should have known if he was harmed. Spinning to peer at him behind her, ready to shatter, she finds him looking across at Danny as he hits the road, a hole blown into the side of his skull. Her soldier raises his rifle and shoots by instinct, killing the man who shot down his best friend's brother.

"We surrender!" comes a chorus of cries from the Auxies down the road, but Tom will have none of it.

"Keep firing!" the young man bellows, a vein throbbing in his temple. "Keep firing and don't stop 'til I tell you!"

Annie loses track of herself, a part of her glued to Mitchell, hunting for any danger, while the rest of her watches the scene before her with grotesque wonder.

Mitchell fires again and again, hitting anything that moves with a marksman's eye. A handful of minutes later, Tom blows his whistle once more.

The last gunshot echoes in the hills, but the lads keep their weapons trained on the enemy, even as their bodies lie slumped on the lorries and scattered on the ground, their blood staining the road.

Tom pants, catching his breath, and when it's clear that all seventeen Auxies are incapacitated, he issues an order. "Take their weapons. Kill anyone left alive."

Annie sucks back into herself, blinking at the savage carnage as the ghosts of the soldiers step out of their bodies and scream at the Irish who can't hear them.

"Danny!" Mitchell cries, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and dashing to his friend's side. Annie follows him as he falls to his knees, latching onto the lad's jacket as he gazes blearily into his blue, lifeless eyes. "Oh, God, no," he croaks, gently shaking his friend as if to wake him.

"Johnny," Annie whispers, tears blurring her vision as she rests a hand on his back, tuning out the lamenting of the dead English behind her.

"No!" someone bellows from a distance, and they look up to see Rory, frozen and shaking across the road. He drops his weapon and whimpers with each breath as he drags his feet towards the body of his dead brother. By the time he reaches him and sees the hole in his skull, he whips his head around with one of the most anguished screams Annie has ever heard.

Rory staggers, making choking sounds before rocking from side to side and pacing aimlessly. The noises escaping him are halfway between a gag and a keen. Mitchell watches him for several seconds before rising to his feet and slowly approaching.

"Rory," he says quietly, reaching out a hand that Rory slaps away. "Rory, I'm _so_ sorry."

Rory sneers and latches onto Mitchell's jacket, shoving against him without letting go, over and over until Mitchell forces him into a hug. The boy's arms relax as he leans his face into his friends' chest, letting out a heart-breaking sob.

"Hello?" comes a quiet, husky voice behind Annie, and she looks up to see Danny's ghost gazing down at her beside his body, holding his hat nervously. Blinking away her tears, she scans the scene behind him and spots only IRA collecting weapons. The spirits of the dead English are gone. "Are you… an angel?"

Annie rises from Danny's body, wiping at her cheeks, looking between the ghost before her and Rory clinging to Mitchell a ways away.

"Yes," she says quietly. "I suppose I am. And I'm terribly sorry… but you've died."

Danny nods sadly, looking down at his body. "I know."

The ghosts of the other two lads who were killed step up behind him, eyeing her with curious expressions. "There's a gate in that fence yonder," one says. "It never was there all day. I can hear my mam behind it, calling to me."

Annie smiles sadly. "That's your passage to the other side. You must take it."

The lads nod, and Annie finds herself slightly envious of their accepting smiles. Her death was nowhere near as straightforward.

"Danny," she says as he starts to shuffle away with the others. "You were very brave. I wish it hadn't ended this way."

"I don't," he replies, putting his cap back on. "This is how I always wanted to go. As a warrior. Like Padraic Pearse."

Annie smiles bittersweetly then pulls him into a hug which no-doubt confuses him, for he has no way of knowing that she has been around him as much as Mitchell has, and as such considers him a friend. She lets go and watches him cast a sad look to his weeping brother before turning to follow the other two to the gate, which is now open and glowing.

"Oh, and Annie," he says, pausing to look at her, and Annie freezes, for she never told him her name. His eyes dart to Mitchell before returning to her. "What you're doing is beautiful."

With a tip of his hat, he steps through the gate and is gone.

Annie takes in a shuddering breath, realizing that once he died, the knowledge of who she was protecting must've been imparted to him. Hugging herself, she doesn't turn around as she hears Rory vomit, and instead keeps her eyes trained on the fence that no longer has a gate.

"Form ranks," Tom is bellowing, and the men hastily get in line a ways from the burning trucks. "These lorries might as well be beacons. _Form ranks_!"

Mitchell guides Rory over to the group and peels the boy off of him, forcing him to stand in line. Annie shuffles to her soldier, noting that Rory is far from the only one who has been left worse for wear. Several of the lads tremble with shock, while others stare despondently into the distance.

Tom stalks the ranks, looking them over. One of the lads is sick on his own shoes while he stands at attention, and Tom pauses before him.

"Are you _bothered_?" he snarls. "Did you think that _killing_ would be easy? Did you think that because they were English, their faces wouldn't haunt you?" His wild eyes dart down the line of men, lingering on any who are having trouble keeping their composure. "You are soldiers of the Irish Republic! You will act like _men, _not_ children_."

"Tom," Mitchell says cautiously, and when the younger man fixes his wild eyes on him, Mitchell slowly shakes his head. "They're farmers. Give them a moment, for Christ's sake."

Tom stalks over to him and presses his face inches from Mitchell's before bellowing "We _drill_!"

Annie leans back and blinks at the intensity of his scream.

The shorter man pulls away and starts down the road, blowing his whistle and forcing the men to drill until the edge shakes off of their nerves and darkness settles in. Afterwards, they begin to march, and Rory stops in his tracks.

"We can't just leave Danny."

Mitchell steps out of line to come to his side. "We have to."

Rory shakes his head and takes a step towards his body but Mitchell restrains him with a hand on his arm.

"It's just his body, Rory," he soothes. "He's in a better place now."

Rory trembles, gazing down at his brother's face for the last time. "Do you really believe that?"

Mitchell is quiet for a moment before he responds. "We have to." With a gentle squeeze, he guides Rory away from the body and into the back of the line.

The two lorries blaze behind them, illuminating the countryside, beside the red-stained, corpse-strewn road.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**

**_Luckily, Tom Barry wrote down his account of the Kilmichael Ambush, and he was invaluable in my research for this chapter. However, I feel very strange and unworthy writing about him as a character and placing words in his mouth... but then again, that's the nature of Historical Fiction, I suppose! I also feel guilty for not honoring the three IRA who really died, rather than the fictional Danny.  
_**


	30. Rory O'Flaherty

_**I created a group called **_**Annie's Soldier**_** for anyone taking the Hibernia College class who wants to join! Though given that the instructors don't encourage any political discussion (most likely because of the Troubles) I was too afraid to use the cover photo for this story, and instead turned my author photo sepia and stuck that up. Hopefully I won't get kicked out!**_

_**And as always, you can see a photo of the real life Tom Barry and others on my tumblr blog Butterfly Frock that is under blackhawkwriter. Enjoy!**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**30. ****Rory O'Flaherty**

The march back to their rendezvous point is just as long as the one to Kilmichael, only this time, then men have adrenaline on their side, for the fear of being captured makes them jog whenever possible. Darkness falls swiftly and they cut across fields and winding back roads for hours until they reach the River Bandon. One of the local lads waves them over to the bridge, and once they've all gathered, they cross the rushing water in a line, hugging the stone for support.

Mitchell has kept an eye on Rory all the while, and has the boy cross in front of him, his hand latched onto the woolen shoulder of his coat as he helps guide the listless lad across. Every time Annie catches a glimpse of Rory's anguished face, she wishes she could tell him that his brother truly was at peace with his own death.

From the river, they continue, sodden and miserable, until they reach a cottage.

"That's it," O'Brien hisses. "That's Far Away Camp."

Tom goes on ahead of the flying column and knocks on the door. Despite it being the dead of night, it's opened by a man who takes one look at his face and the lads behind him before waving them all in.

The soaking men take shifts by the fireplace and the homeowner and his wife hand out hot tea. Mitchell and Rory slump down in a corner, and when biscuits are handed out, he refuses to eat.

"Gentlemen," Tom says, addressing the group once they've all been fed something for the first time in over a day. "This was a baptism by fire. I couldn't be prouder of any one of you. This victory belongs to all of us. And mark my words, we just delivered a blow the English won't soon forget."

Though his words are kind and Annie appreciates them after the previous verbal whipping, the men are too tied, or too scarred, to show many signs of celebration. Most look like they can't wait to put the whole thing behind them. While she killed Kirby and blew up the Old Ones, she never had to watch her enemy bleed out or see the fear in his eyes at his own death. She doesn't blame them for their guilt.

The house is small and there aren't many places to lie down that aren't already occupied, so Mitchell and Rory remain where they are. Annie's soldier studies his friend with sad eyes when Rory falls asleep leaning against his shoulder, looking like a lad at the start of his teens instead of the end. It takes some time, but Mitchell eventually follows him into slumber.

They are allowed to sleep as long as they like the following morning, and the woman of the house fixes pot after pot of oatmeal to feed the starving men. At the end of the day, Tom quietly gives the order to disperse in small groups whenever they feel ready.

"It would be best," he says, "for us all to lie low for some time."

Rory still refuses to eat, but Mitchell hauls him to his feet to go the following morning.

"That'll be it from us, then, Tom," Mitchell says. "I've got to take him home." His eyes flicker to Rory, who is seated by the fire with his head in his hands.

Tom casts the young man a sad look. "I should've known it was a false surrender."

Mitchell shakes his head. "You couldn't have."

"All the same… their deaths are on my watch." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I'll have much to answer for by the time this is over."

"That may be," Mitchell says, and the younger man meets his gaze. "But God bless you for having the courage to bear that weight."

Tom's eyes harden, and Annie feels her heart go out to him, for he has seen so much that he has aged beyond his years.

"I'll be in the city if you need me," Mitchell adds.

Tom nods. "It was an honor and a privilege to fight at your side, Johnny."

Mitchell dips his head, tipping his hat with a small smile. "Likewise."

"And Johnny? Get some rest. You look like you need it."

Mitchell hesitates then nods, and Annie casts him a worried glance, realizing she has become too accustomed to his ill complexion. "Goodbye," she whispers to Tom as her soldiers gathers Rory up and guides him to the door.

They reach Felix's flat by that evening, and as they climb the stairs, Mitchell's pallor becomes ashen. At first Annie worries over his weakened heart, then realizes that he's more than likely dreading the news he bears.

He quietly knocks on the door, and after a moment, Felix answers. Surprise flashes across his features at seeing the pair of them on his doorstep, followed by a small smile that quickly morphs into an apprehensive grimace when he takes in his friend's grim expression and his brother's distant eyes.

"What…" he stammers, leaning against the doorframe for support. "What's… where's Danny?"

"May we come in?" Mitchell asks softly.

Felix nods stiffly and steps aside, allowing them entrance. Penny leans over to peer at them from the dinner table where she's sat, nursing. Her face lights up when she sees who it is, but Felix speaks before she can greet them.

"Is Danny all right?"

Rory pulls away from Mitchell and slinks over to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass and closing his eyes. Mitchell sighs before meeting his friend's gaze. "No," he says softly, shaking his head. "He was killed."

"No," Felix immediately counters, confidently. "No, no that can't be right."

"It is, Felix," Mitchell croaks as Annie bites her lip at their familiar surroundings, remembering what boisterous happiness the brothers had shared in this small space.

"No," Felix repeats, his voice cracking. "He's too young."

"I'm so sorry."

"No. No!" Felix claps a hand to his mouth and Penny rises, tucking Sean away in his cot before going to her husband's side. "I don't understand," he gasps as Penny hugs him to her. "The war is _over_. We fought to _end_ the killing. How could this happen?" His shoulders shake as he breaks down into tears, sagging against his wife.

Penny runs her fingers through his hair, her own eyes glistening with tears that don't fall as she looks from Rory to Mitchell. "Is he injured?"

Mitchell slowly shakes his head. "Not in body."

Penny nods then guides Felix to the couch, and Annie pounds her own thighs because she can't quell her rage over the pain they shouldn't have to be enduring, and feels like she's falling apart. Looking at Mitchell, she wonders how he can just stand there, so stoic after having been through everything she has and more these past few years.

"How'd it happen?" Felix gasps, looking up at Mitchell. "And why are you here?"

"He helped whip us all into shape for the ambush," Rory says quietly from the window, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Danny was on the other hill… he'd come down when they shouted surrender. Then they shot him." Pulling away from the pane, Rory sags into a kitchen chair and drops his head in his hands.

"You?" Felix asks with disbelief. "_You're_ a part of this?"

"Yeah," Mitchell answers quietly. "Listen… I should leave you lot to it. The last thing I want to do is burden you with my presence."

Penny shakes her head. "Don't ever think that. You're always welcome here." Her green eyes burn with intensity. "_Always_. I may not be able to fight, but it's the least I can do."

Mitchell hesitantly nods and Annie smiles at Penny, admiring her gumption. This was not the same couple that had once asked their rebel brothers to leave.

Felix runs a desperate hand through his blonde hair. "Where is he?"

Mitchell's eyes soften. "We had to leave him, Felix."

"Jesus." He closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands. "This is barbaric."

"The lorries were burning," Mitchell explains. "We were sitting ducks. We had to go."

"What're we going to tell mam?" Rory squeaks from the table without looking up.

"That her son died a hero," Mitchell says. Felix digs his fingers in his hair, staring miserably at the floor.

Penny rubs his back then looks from Rory to Mitchell. "You two look famished. Let me get you something to eat."

A few minutes later, Rory is staring dejectedly into a bowl of stew. Annie crosses over to him and runs her hand across his shoulders, whispering "_eat_," into his ears. To her delight and Mitchell's, he sighs before taking a small bite.

Annie loses track of the days as Rory and Mitchell finally sleep properly and the family enters the cycles of grief that she remembers too well. After Mitchell had died in his alternate life, Annie had oscillated from inconsolable to furious – both at him and at the circumstances that shaped him. But she had George to swap stories with, and even Nina joined in now and again, even if she didn't have much to add beyond words of comfort.

The way the family keeps telling funny tales about Danny with tears in their eyes brings Annie back to those dark days, and she stays all the closer to her soldier for it, often clinging to him. At one point, they're all so caught up in the moment that Mitchell doesn't want Sean breaking it with his fussing, so he heads over to the crib and picks the baby up himself, comforting him. Sean's tears die down to quiet hoots as he gazes up at Mitchell's face and the soldier smiles back.

Annie squeezes her own hands so tightly that if she were alive, she'd injure herself. He sits down at the table with the baby, playing with his hands and showering him with kisses, making him grin and show off his scant teeth, coated in drool.

Mitchell runs his fingers over the baby's downy hair before kissing his head with a smile, whispering, "Looks like your mam won the bet."

Annie laughs softly, remembering a simpler time when Penny and Felix had placed wagers on the color of their baby's hair.

"You all right?" Penny calls from the sofa and Mitchell actually looks frightened that she'll take the baby away.

"We're lovely."

Penny smiles and mouths "thank you" before blowing a kiss to her son while Felix listens to a story Rory is telling, for the third time, about how Danny once farted in the middle of an inspection of their ranks.

Sean pats at Mitchell's prickly face, eventually sticking his hand into his mouth, making him chuckle.

Annie, sighs, noticing that the broken look in her soldier's eyes has vanished, at least for the moment, and knows for certain that Brigid was never the girl for him. Sean falls asleep in his arms, and the enchanted, wistful expression on his face as he observes the sleeping baby makes Annie want to scream at fate to let him have a child.

"The world needs more fathers like you," she says softly, resting her hand on his shoulder, smiling down at the little one.

Sean fusses a little so Mitchell rocks him, humming a soft tune that makes Annie close her eyes to savor the sound of "If You Were the Only Girl (In the World)," wondering if he can feel her presence. The humming cuts off abruptly, making her open her eyes, a flash of worry coursing through her at the look on his face. His features are scrunched up, as if he was caught off guard by a sudden physical ache, his eyes a little glassy before he shakes himself out of the spell and focuses on the baby once more. She keeps a closer eye on him after that.

The bodies of the dead Auxiliaries are brought into Cork, drawing a curious crowd in the streets below the flat. Rory doesn't dare head out, but Penny goes to the shops in the afternoon.

"Never felt such a strange Christmastime," she remarks as she unwinds her scarf upon her return. "The streets are crawling with Auxies and Tans just looking for any excuse to punish us, I swear."

Everyone is tense for the rest of the day, jumping at little sounds. They keep the windows cracked open to keep an ear on the goings on below.

That night, as Mitchell lies on the floor, trying to get comfortable while Rory sleeps soundly on the sofa, she drapes herself on him in a protective hug. Mitchell sighs, and she knows he's thinking of home and worrying over his parents and Ms. Hannigan and Brigid and probably even Kitten Annie since there's so little milk to be had.

"I miss, them, too," she whispers. Then she traces a finger down his cheek and jaw, her ghost body on his chest. "Hush now, _a stóirín_," she whispers, "go to sleep."

He sighs and whispers, "I'm trying."

Annie smiles, but knows better by now than to get her hopes up. "Then stop trying and just count every other breath."

He closes his eyes and Annie rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. When he is finally asleep, she leans up and kisses the stubble of his chin before snuggling down on his chest, listening to the lulling sound of his heartbeat.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asks. "I can't have you yet you won't have anyone else." She presses her lips together, thinking that their situation isn't all that different from their alternate life. "Maybe this _is_ my eternity. Forever near enough to love you, forever far enough to never be with you."

She lets out a sigh and he shifts in his sleep, his arm moving over his chest, and she smiles, pretending that he's hugging her to him. With her ear this breast, she notices his heart flutter several times, and worries he's having nightmares, but his body remains reposed so she doesn't wake him.

Annie doesn't sleep, and as such, she is the first to hear the heavy boots pounding up the stairwell. At first she thinks it's just drunken neighbors, but then she hears a very English "bloody hell" echo in the hall, and she crackles.

"Johnny." She sits upright, shaking his shoulders. "Johnny, wake up. _Now_." She slaps his face and Mitchell wakes up with a grimace, twitching slightly. "Listen!"

He stills, his eyes flying open at the sound. He climbs to his feet so fast that he almost passes out from his heart's sluggish response. "Rory," he hisses. "_Rory_."

Rory has only just opened his eyes when there is a loud pounding on the door. "RIC! Open up!"

The younger man falls off the couch in his mad scramble to get up. Mitchell motions for him to stay still as the door is pounded upon yet again.

"RIC!" An English voice repeats before someone starts kicking the door. Felix skids into the room from his bedroom, Penny close behind him, holding Sean as if ready to run, but there is only one way out.

The door is kicked aside, half-busted off of its hinges and hanging as four Black and Tans stride into the room, their weapons drawn. Mitchell immediately shoots his hands in the air and the two brothers follow suit.

Annie feels a whirlwind kick up within at the sight of their familiar, haphazard uniforms, and she stands half-inside Mitchell, facing down the men with a furious glare.

"Right," one of the Tans says, his bulging eyes scanning the men. "Which one of you is Rory O'Flaherty?"

Annie's eyes dart to Rory, who looks about to be sick, then to Felix, who looks about to do something stupid.

"I am," a voice calls, and Annie grows cold inside, for it wasn't Rory's. It was Mitchell's.

"_What_?" she barks.

"What's this about?" he asks, ignoring the shocked expressions of Rory and Felix. Penny, however, is studying him with a mixture of gratitude and worry.

Two of the men stride forward and yank his arms down behind his back, handcuffing him, and Annie sizzles lest they harm him.

"You're under arrest," one of the Tans at the door says. "For high treason, conspiracy, and the murder of seventeen Auxiliaries of the Royal Irish Constabulary on the twenty-eighth of November."

Mitchell relaxes his arms as much as he can, letting the men manipulate him as they see fit. The second man pats him down the gives a nod, indicating that he's clean.

"Why are you doing this?" Annie asks him lowly. "What about your parents?"

The Tans keep their guns trained on the family as they yank Mitchell to the door, and Annie's body growls as she walks along with him.

"Wh-where are you taking him?" Felix asks.

The Tan pointing a pistol at Felix lowers it slightly, only to lunge towards him and strike him in the head with the butt, sending him to the floor.

Penny screams and Mitchell yanks towards him, calling out his friend's name, only to be slugged in the gut by one of the Tans.

Annie is so upset that the lights buzz and flicker. Her soldier is yanked towards the doorway, his eyes latching onto Felix's with worry before being shoved into the hall. The men file out with him, and their boots are heavy on the stairs.

Mitchell coughs from the blow and his foot slips on one of the steps, making the man guiding him by his arm growl and shove. "Walk, you dumb mick. Or is that too complicated?"

"Call him that again, and I'll scare you _shitless_," Annie seethes.

Mitchell keeps his footing and doesn't resist as he's marched into the quiet street and shoved into the back of a truck. Armed Tans sit on either side of him, and one spots a man watching curiously from the doorway of his pub. Raising his pistol, the Tan opens fire, laughing as the man dashes back inside.

The glower Mitchell gives the Tan is enough to wipe the smug look off his face. Annie is worried he'll strike Mitchell in reprisal for the glare, but instead it seems to have unsettled him and he shifts his gaze elsewhere.

"We'll get you out of this," Annie says, standing in the bouncing truck bed as it drives off. "I'll steal the keys. But after that, you have to leave Cork. Do you hear me?"

Mitchell continues to glower at the men across from him.

The truck pulls to a stop several minutes later, outside of a police barracks. They ungracefully yank their prisoner out the back then march him inside. Tugging off his handcuffs, they shove him into a dirty cell. Annie watches carefully as one of the officers locks the cell door, waiting to see where he sets the keys, but he keeps them in his hand for the time being.

"And who is this?" a nasal voice asks as a man enters from the other room, and something about his tone makes Annie prickle.

"Rory O'Flaherty," one of the men replies. "Brother of Danny O'Flaherty."

The man pauses in his approach, and though she can't see his face, Annie knows he's given his man a questioning look.

"The body the villager identified," the officer explains. "From Kilmichael."

"I see."

The Black and Tan steps out of the other room, and as the lamplight falls on his face, Annie gasps. It's Herrick.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	31. A Ghostly Carol

**Annie's Soldier**

**31. A Ghostly Carol**

Herrick stays several paces away from the bars as he eyes their prisoner. Annie shoots Mitchell a look of surprise, waiting for him to recognize the man who tried to recruit him in the hospital.

"Of course," she gasps. "You were _blind_. You have no idea it's him. And you…" She spins around to face Herrick, hoping that he has no way to recognize Mitchell as the soldier who so wounded his pride. No recollection flashes in the older man's eyes, setting Annie slightly at ease. Half of her soldier's face had been hidden at the time, after all.

"Very well," Herrick says. "Question him."

The other Black and Tans grin maliciously and withdraw clubs. Mitchell backs up in his cell as they approach, and Annie's wide eyes dart from their weapons to their faces. "Oh, I don't think so," she growls, summoning a storm within to make the lights dim. Only they don't.

Furrowing her brow, she snarls, flinging her hands out on either side, willing her anger to burn into the air and charge it as it has so many times before. When nothing happens again, and the men unlock the door, Annie squawks in panic.

"What's wrong with me?"

One of the men steps in and Mitchell squares his shoulders, meeting his gaze with a glaring challenge, but Annie can feel the fear radiating from him. She dashes to his side and flings her arms around his chest as the Tan stalks towards him, his baton at the ready.

Annie grits her teeth and groans as she once again tries to summon her windy rage, but once more, nothing happens, and she is left letting out a frustrated gasp.

The first blow falls, whacking her soldier where his neck meets his shoulder with a crack that sounds like breaking collarbone.

"_Stop it_," Annie shrieks as the blow sends him to the filthy cell floor. The Tan raises his arm back and strikes him again on the side as the other man enters the cell and starts landing kicks. "STOP!" Annie bellows, yanking on their arms and pulling at their hair, her hands sliding right through their flesh.

But the kicks keep coming, and the baton keeps landing with a sickening slap each time it finds its target. Despite their frenzy, which lands a stray blow to the cot framing beside them, busting off a leg with the force of it, Mitchell only cries out once. It's a weakened, straining sound that makes Annie clamp her hands to her ears.

She lets out her own screams to drown out the sounds of the beating, and by the time Herrick calls his men off, she is left tear-stained and trembling with images of the hearth and winter wheat and cattle on sunny days back in Dingle.

Though she's afraid of what she'll find, she stiffly pulls her hands away from her ears and looks down at her soldier, who lies in a crumpled, coughing heap amidst a splattering of his own blood.

The sight of him so broken and bleeding makes her feel made of ash, and she cascades down to his side, wrapping her arms around him with a sob, trying to pop out of the cell with him even though she knows it to be impossible.

"Hopefully your tongue is a bit looser now," Herrick says as he strides into the cell, toying with his own baton.

"Get out of here you _monster_," Annie hisses through her tears.

Herrick's gaze sharpens and stills as he crouches beside the quivering form of his prisoner. Annie whimpers as she recognizes the look. He is tasting Mitchell's blood in the air.

Prodding the younger man with the tip of his baton, he rolls Mitchell over onto his back, and Mitchell sluggishly meets his gaze, blood trickling down his face where his forehead has split open.

"You seem familiar to me," Herrick muses, looking him over, his manic eyes lingering wherever there is a trace of fresh blood.

"How can this be happening?" Annie whines, resting her forehead against Mitchells as he coughs and chokes, trying to breathe with what must be a jumble of broken ribs.

"There, there," Herrick coos, reaching out to gently brush a stray curl off his victim's face, making Annie sneer. "_Shh_. Just take deep breaths."

His eyes slither to blood pulsing from her soldier's head wound, and he looks as if it's all he can do to keep from lapping at it.

"You smell very sweet," he murmurs, almost inaudibly, and Annie's face twists in revolution.

"I hate you," she says. "I hate you _so_ much."

"You know, you killed my men," Herrick says, his voice louder as Mitchell's breathing calms down to the point of hitching and wheezing instead of coughing. "So I really can't let you live. The law says we're to hang you, but where's the sport in that?" he chuckles. "I mean, really, in this day and age? A short drop and a sudden stop is hardly creative. Hardly… _satisfying_."

His eyes once more drift to the blood and Annie wraps her arms around her soldier's head in an attempt to shield him from the vampire's eyes.

"Ask him about Kilmichael," one of the men who beat Mitchell says.

Herrick rolls his eyes. "And what would be the point of that?"

"To find out who else took part."

Herrick sighs and rocks back on his heels. "Listen, Daniels, I know men. And this one is nothing like the shepherd we tortured to get his name. This one isn't going to talk. _Are_ you?" he asks, his gaze sliding to Mitchell's hazel eyes that keep struggling to stay open. He shoots an annoyed look to his fellow Tans. "How many times do I have to tell you not to start with the head if you want any sport?"

"He kept wiggling around!"

"You're all _filth_," Annie hisses, still trying to shield Mitchell's head.

"Hey, pig," one barks at Mitchell, kicking his feet. "Who lead you that day?"

Her soldier doesn't answer, struggling instead to stay awake.

One of the Tans elbows his companion. "You've bloody killed him. I told you that you have to be gentler with the thin ones. Them lot are built like women."

Annie lets out a sob, for she can feel Mitchell's heartbeat growing erratic beneath her. After the blood loss weeks ago, she's terrified it will founder.

"Both of you, out of here," Herrick barks, and the two exchange a confused look. "I said get out!"

Reluctantly, like children being sent to bed at a party, the two leave and file into the adjoining room where the rest of the Tans are smoking and gambling. Herrick watches them leave, his chest heaving, then turns back to Mitchell with a cunning, hungry eye.

Annie shakes her head helplessly as she breathes "No…"

She had failed. Despite seeing him through the Great War and the shell shock and the gunshot and al the heartache, she was going to lose him to Herrick.

Annie had never felt so small and worthless in her life.

"Where were we?" Herrick coos, leaning towards Mitchell, whose eyes flash green with apprehension. Annie can feel her soldier moving jerkily and closes her eyes, for his feeble attempts to get away won't save him. "Ah, yes."

Herrick smooths his victim's bloodied hair back and tilts his head, angling his neck towards him.

"I know men," he repeats, his lusting eyes never leaving the other man's face and bleeding wound. "And you have potential beyond anything this pathetic island can offer you. You believe in something you're willing to _die_ for. One can't ask for much more loyalty than that."

"Please… stop…" Annie whimpers through her tears, swiping at Herrick only to have her hand glide through him. "Stop…"

"Welcome to a new beginning," Herrick coos before his eyes flicker to obsidian and his fangs slide out.

Mitchell shifts again, and when she looks down at him his eyes are sharp as they focus on the red-head's face.

Herrick hisses, lunging forward with predatory speed, only to halt with a small gurgle, his teeth only just grazing Mitchell's neck.

Stiffening, Herrick recoils slowly, looking down at his chest in shock. Annie's lips part in surprise as she realizes that Mitchell grabbed the broken cot post and braced it against himself at the same time that Herrick does.

Herrick has impaled himself.

With a wheezing gasp, Herrick's neck bulges and his expression contorts into one of rage before cracks slither over his pale skin. His last gasp turns into a column of dust.

Annie drags her shocked gaze from the dead vampire to her soldier, who is now unconscious. Her hands hastily grope his neck and relief floods her when she finds his pulse, even if it is thready. "You just… you just…" she whisper-gushes.

One of the Tans sticks his head out of the other room and frowns when he can't see Herrick. Stepping in further, he stares at the unconscious prisoner and the pile of dust and clothes in confusion.

"Daniels?" he calls over his shoulder, and his companion enters, following his finger when he points out the odd sight.

"Huh," Daniels says. "Damn termites." He turns to go back into the room when his companion stops him.

"But… where did Herrick go?"

"Probably out to have some fun with a girl. You know how he likes his whores." He shifts to peer back into the cell. "You were right. That one's not going to last the night." Sighing, he rubs his face. "Well, come on, let's get him loaded in the lorry."

Daniels hesitantly nods then follows his companion into the cell, his eyes darting to the pile of clothes in confusion.

"Where are you taking him?" Annie barks, trying to gather Mitchell up in her arms and failing. "You can't have him!"

The men pick him up and carry him outside, Annie on their heels. She squawks when they drop him in the back of the truck.

"_Gentle_. Christ, he's still alive!" They climb in the front and start driving, hugging themselves in the cold. "He just needs rest," Annie screams, kneeling beside her soldier in the bed. "Then he's going to be perfectly, fine, just like last time."

She looks down to his pale lips and realizes that the gash to his forehead has nearly stopped bleeding.

"See?" she says hopefully. "You're not losing any more blood. That's how strong you are." She sniffles and wipes off her cheeks before pulling his hand into her lap. "You're going to be just fine. I'll take care of you."

The lorry bounces along for several minutes then parks on a quiet street in a part of town Annie doesn't recognize. No one is outside this late at night, and the puddles left over from the previous rains have frozen. The two Tans grab ahold of Mitchell by his feet and shoulders and carry him out of the back of the truck.

Annie loses her words when they make for the side of the road, count to three, and swing him into a ditch. They walk back and through her, wiping off their hands before driving away.

She stays rooted to her patch of stone on the edge of the street, staring at the ditch with wide, unblinking eyes. It takes a while, but her words finally trickle back to her.

"No…" she whispers with a shudder. "No, this isn't right. He killed Herrick. He needs to go to a hospital. He needs care and… and warmth. Oh God, it's freezing out." She hugs herself even though she can't feel the cold, then dashes over to the ditch where she finds his broken body lying on his side.

She shakes her head, tears blurring her vision. "No… no, this isn't supposed to happen." Scrambling down the embankment, she presses her fingers to his neck and gasps in relief when, after several seconds, she feels the bump of a rush of blood in his pulse.

"There we go," she encourages, sitting down beside him, her hand never leaving his neck. "I just have to wait for someone to find you, is all. Or for you to wake up. Then we'll get you help."

Settling in, she hums softly to him, their song wafting through the winter air like a ghostly carol. And she ignores the way his skin is turning grey and his limbs seem frozen, for she read somewhere once that extreme cold can actually help a wounded person by slowing down their heart rate. Or was it a drowned person?

The sun douses the clear sky with light, rising orange on the eastern horizon. Annie fixes her eyes on it like a forgotten statue, the song still issuing from her lips, albeit so slowly that it is nearly indiscernible. She's pretending she hasn't noticed that the last bump she felt beneath her fingers was so long ago that she has lost track.

As the golden light creeps across the land, she forces her eyes down to the man beside her. Her face crumples, for there is no mistaking death. Then the sobs come with tears that won't fall. They just swish about in her eyes and cling to her lashes, despite the desperate sounds coming from her throat.

"Don't weep," a soft voice says, startling her.

Annie looks up to see Mitchell's ghost sitting a few feet away, his chin resting in his hands as if he has been there for some time.

* * *

_**Please share your thoughts!**_


	32. Just A Girl

_**I felt too guilty leaving you all with that craziness for too long, so here is some more!**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**32. Just a Girl**

Mitchell's eyes are timid and unsure as she meets his gaze, and for a moment, all she can do is take in the wonder of his blood-stained face, animated and acknowledging her.

"I tried to stop them," she says quietly.

His eyes drift from her to the stagnant bones and flesh wearing his clothes in the ditch. He looks on the brink of tears, and her chest is weighted with the strangeness of it all. This isn't a blip in his brain or a message under his pillow. This is real. And it makes her feel awkward, as if they've just met but she's read his diary.

He drags his wounded gaze back up to her, and she knows now for a fact that he has been sitting there, trying to come to terms with his own death, for some time. After Danny had looked upon her and instantly knew who she was and what she was doing, she had taken comfort in the idea of Mitchell doing the same. But his gaze is sheltered, as if she's a stranger.

"Do you remember me?" she asks.

He shakes his head no then stops himself and answers with a quiet, "Yes."

Annie grins. "Really?" She rests a hand on her chest. "Mitchell, it's me, Annie."

His eyes sharpen as his face contorts. "My cat?"

"What? I – no! We met in Bristol."

He eyes her warily for a moment before looking over first one shoulder then the other, as if hoping a friend will happen past and offer him an escape.

"But…" she continues, her voice dropping. "You said you..."

"Your face is familiar," he says. "But I…" Then a light flickers in his gaze and he leaps to his feet. "Are you…?"

Annie smiles and nods. "The only girl in the world."

He grins, and even though his face is covered in dried blood, she thinks it's beautiful.

"It was the cat that took after me, not the other way around."

"Annie," he says breathlessly, wonder in his eyes. "_Your_ name is Annie."

She nods with a smile then climbs up out of the ditch.

"You're… a… spirit?"

"Sort of." She twists at the hem of her sweater as she comes to a halt beside him. "I started off as a ghost like you, but now I seem to have changed."

He looks down to his hands, and Annie knows that while he may understand that he is no longer alive, the word _ghost_ is a difficult thing to wrap one's mind around. "And you're the one who has been shadowing me?"

She nods with a shy smile.

He looks over her clothes and face with a perplexed expression. "You're sure you're not a faerie?"

Annie laughs a little. "Oh, _that_. These are just the clothes I died in. _Ages_ ago. Well, not exactly ages ago in the _past_ but… you know what, let's get into that later."

He blinks and lifts his head a little, pivoting to peer around him, as if remembering time. "Felix…"

"What about him?"

"The RIC…" He furrows his brow, his gaze sliding to the ground as he's bombarded with memories of the previous night. "You really were with me my whole life?" he asks, looking at her from under a quirked brow.

"Not your whole life. I didn't come until that day in June of 1917 when you were about to walk into a trap."

His expression is as enchanted as it is confused. "So you _were_ protecting me."

"Yes," she replies softly.

He furrows his brow. "But where did you come from?"

Annie sighs. "I wish I could tell you. I don't understand it myself."

"But… you were dead before you came?"

She nods. "I've been dead for a very long time."

"Like me now?" he whispers, suddenly looking like a child from the fear in his eyes.

She shakes her head, gently resting her hands on his, a jolt running through her at truly touching him for the first time. "I know it's frightening at first. God knows, I was terrified and confused and… but you've got me. And I'll see you through it."

His eyes search hers, seeking comfort that they seem to find, for their wandering stops. For a moment he seems to lose track of time again as he gazes into her brown irises. "So…" He starts, blinking and looking away. "I'm a ghost… is there no heaven?"

"I don't know. I thought there was an afterlife, but…" She doesn't have the heart to tell him that her afterlife was to get sent here. "When most people die, a door appears and it takes them to the other side. To wherever they're meant to be. And it's a good thing."

He shakes his head. "I didn't see a door. Just Tans screaming…"

"Sometimes, our door doesn't arrive right away. That's what happened to me. It means that you need to resolve something in your life before you move on."

"Oh," he says softly, his eyes drifting to her hands on his. "Have you ever… touched me… before?"

Annie takes a deep breath, longing for him to know the truth, but deciding yet again that such divulgence would be selfish. How can she explain that her love for him defies time when he sees her as a stranger? Especially when he doesn't remember seeing her after he was shot. She raises her brows, choosing her words delicately. "You have… _sensed_ me before."

He smiles a little. "I thought as much. Half the time I figured I was off my nut, but the other half… You left me that note. Why didn't you ever write more?"

"I… I didn't want to frighten you."

His eyes search hers, as if they contain all the truths he longs to find. "Have you really been with me every waking minute for three years?"

"No. Every _un_-waking minute, as well." She smiles. "I'm your guardian."

He shifts their hands so that his are clutching hers, and the sensation of someone pressing against her with conscious thought makes her close her eyes.

"Thank you," he whispers.

When she opens her eyes, she's surprised by her own tears as she looks up at him.

"What is it?" he asks.

She shakes her head, struggling to describe the fullness spreading inside. "It's just so good to be able to speak with you." She smiles, her eyes shimmering, and he squeezes her hands.

"But there was no one else for you?"

She shakes her head, her tears escaping.

"What about the spirits guarding my mam and da?"

"They don't have any."

"Oh Christ," he pulls his hands away and rakes one through his hair, spinning on the spot. "What have I done? Oh God, what have I done?"

He falls to his knees, his back to her. She circles to stand before him, tucking her hair behind her ears as he casts his miserable eyes up to her.

"How could I do this to them?"

"To Una and Malachy?"

He nods, his eyes shimmering as he squeaks, "You know their names." He closes his eyes, scolding himself. "_Of course _you do."

Annie delicately kneels before him, resting her hands on his once more. "I love them, too."

He opens his eyes, tears clumping his lashes. "You do?"

"None of you could see me, except the cat… but I started to think of you all as my family." She shrugs helplessly. "How could I not love such admirable people?"

"I've left them alone," he insists, his voice shaking. "They're going to be heart-broken. _I'm_ heartbroken. I'll never see them again, will I?" The tears that slip down his cheeks cut a trail through the blood and dirt.

"You might," she soothes, tightening her grip on his hands as his shoulders start rising and falling rapidly with his hitching breaths. "Once they pass over, you might. I saw one of my dead friends there."

"But I'm _not_ there. I'm still here."

She smiles encouragingly. "We'll have to fix that. For both of us."

He nods, trying hard to keep his panic and grief in check.

She rests a hand on his shoulder. "Let's see if we can't get you cleaned up a bit, ok?"

He rises with her, complacent as a child, trailing after her with their hands linked as she guides him to a pail of gutter water outside a shoemaker's shop nearby. Seating him down, she cracks the ice on the surface then sets to work, gently cleaning off his face. He slowly calms as she does so, his eyes drying as he watches her face, inches from his.

"I've never seen someone like you before," he says quietly.

Annie stops wiping at the stubborn stain above his eyebrow and meets his gaze. "Someone like me?"

He is suddenly shy as he nods. "Your skin… your hair."

She smiles before she douses her sleeve and sets to work again. "My father was from Trinidad. It's an island in the Caribbean. But my mother was English."

"You _sound_ English."

"Sorry about that." She grimaces slightly. "It's probably the last accent you want to hear right now."

"I don't mind," he says softly as she finishes, and she realizes that he has been watching her face, drinking in her features, the whole time. And that makes her blush, even if it is hardly fair given how often she's stared at him before. "You have a lovely voice."

She chuckles softly as she rinses her sleeve out in the bucket. "_Go raibh maith agat_." She darts her gaze back just in time to catch the surprised delight on his clean face.

"_An Bhfuil Gaeilge agat_?" he asks hopefully. (_Do you speak Irish_?)

"Oh, um." She scrunches up her nose. "I've only picked up a bit here and there. You know, from listening to your family."

"Oh…" His eyes run up and down her body. "And you were there, looking like this, the whole time and we never once saw you?"

"There was a brief time where I tried… back when you were attempting to contact me. But it never worked, no matter how hard you gazed into that mirror."

"That's a shame," he says, his voice soft as he looks down at the bloodied water in the bucket. "You're very beautiful."

Annie tries to let out a self-demeaning chuckle but it instead comes out as a snort and she sucks her chin in. The comical reaction makes him smile and regain the courage to meet her in the eye.

"Please," she says, waving a hand as if to bat the compliment away, even though she has fretted a dozen times over what his 1920 mind would make of her heritage.

"I mean it." His brows twitch together as he cocks his head at her. "You're certain we never met in life?"

"Yes," she says. "I know that Lord Mesmer told you otherwise, but I'll have you know that he was a fraud."

His smile grows. "You remember that?"

"I meant it when I said I was _always_ with you."

His smile fades as a thought strikes him. "Even when I was on the pot?"

"No," she squawks, lightly swatting his knee. "I was very sure to give you your dignity and space. There were several times that I… _waited_ in the other room. Or on the roof, for that matter," she adds, thinking of the time he snuck out to the barn with Brigid.

"But you could never leave?"

"Why would I want to?"

"What about _your_ family?"

"I—" She cuts herself off, realizing that she hasn't thought of them in a very, very long time. Probably because they weren't born yet. "I… don't know. I died before them. Maybe I'll see them on the other side when they pass, as well."

He nods, and the worry lingering in his gaze is melting her heart and making her feel things she has no business feeling as someone he's only just met.

"Well you're good as new," she announces, trying to redirect her own thoughts.

He sighs. "The water felt funny."

"The dead don't experience the world the same way as the living." She climbs to her feet and helps him up. "It'll feel normal after a while. I'm so used to how things feel by now that I can't recall what they ever _really_ felt like…"

Her eyes trail off into the distance, tracing the dawn light as it travels over the city in a weak attempt to unthaw the frost.

"I'm sorry," he whispers behind her, causing her to face him. "That you died," he explains.

Annie offers him a sad smile. "It was a long time ago now. I'm at peace with it."

He steps up to her side and sighs. Annie tingles under his gaze and tells herself it's because she hasn't been looked at in so long and not because he can't seem to take his eyes off her.

"I've wanted to meet you for so long," he admits. "I just didn't think it would have to be like this." He shakes his head, his damp hair coming loose. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"I always thought it would be when you were old," Annie muses, her voice distant. "I tried so hard to keep you alive so that you could fall in love and have babies and watch them grow. It was the least you deserved after the Front."

She chances a glance to him, and the realization that he will never have a child seems to have shattered something deep inside. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was about to blow into the wind.

He shakes his head slightly, as if to untangle himself from his own thoughts, blinking away unshed tears. "You…" He furrows his brow. "So you were a fighter, then."

Annie furrows her brow. "No. I'm still just a girl."

He fixes her with his watery, hazel gaze, and looks so betrayed by her humility that it puts a lump in her throat. "Never," he breathes. "You will never be _just_ anything. Not after everything you've done."

He steps closer to her side and rests his hand on her arm, making her inadvertently suck in a lungful that she doesn't need.

"You kept me safe… I can never repay you for that."

"You have nothing to repay me for," she says incredulously. "This was my _task_, my duty… my pleasure," she quietly adds, looking up at him as a breeze tousles their hair.

"I've never met anyone so selfless," he whispers with a small smile.

"Oh _please_," she scoffs, though her bashful smile is coloring her cheeks. "Helping other people… making other people happy… is what makes _me_ happy."

"Then you must be happy all the time," he says, his hand falling away from her arm. And she glows inside at the compliment and acknowledgement that she'd brought him as much happiness as she could. "Did someone send you to me?"

She shakes her head no, pretending she doesn't notice the absence of his touch. "No… at least, not that I can remember. But then again, I don't remember much that happened before I came here. Sort of like… my two lives got divided. Well, three, if you count when I was _actually_ alive."

"Three?" He searches her face with surprise. "But then how old are you? You can't be more than twenty-five."

"Ghost years," she whispers. "I don't age."

His gaze drifts from her face, lost in his own musings as he processes the unraveling of time. When he looks back up, his eyes are troubled. "Annie… what if they find out I wasn't Rory O'Flaherty?"

"Hopefully they won't. Or else your sacrifice will have…" She catches herself at the injured look on his face and has to remind herself that it's no longer just an audience of one. And that death seems to have rendered her soldier vulnerable. The way he is wearing his emotions all over his face and eyes makes her feel a surge of affection with a roar of protection. "We could go check on them if you like."

He nods, his expression eager. He looks around them. "This isn't… I remember the RIC barracks."

Her stomach sours at the memory of the men beating him to death and she has to close her eyes for a moment before replying. "We're… some blocks away. They brought you here in a lorry."

"Maybe we should stay," he says in a rush, facing her. She parts her lips to ask why but he cuts her off. "I've changed my mind. I never want to leave this spot." He hurries back over to his body and plants himself down by the ditch, hugging his knees.

* * *

_**Please share your thoughts!**_


	33. I Can Feel the Sun

**Annie's Soldier**

**33. I Can Feel the Sun**

Annie watches Mitchell from where she's standing, giving him his space for a few minutes before wandering over and sitting down beside him. Tears are lining his cheeks as he stares down at his own frigid corpse. The hurt and regret in his eyes are so raw that she can't speak for several more minutes.

"I know it isn't fair, sweetheart," she begins softly. "It isn't fair at all. This should never have happened to you." She stares forlornly at the body. "In the end… I failed you."

"This wasn't your fault," he croaks.

"But I couldn't stop them. I warned you of danger in the war, I slowed the bullet in your chest… but I couldn't stop this. It was like all the strength was sucked from my body and I couldn't do a thing."

When she looks over at him, he's watching her with teary eyes that look emerald in the dawn light. "You can stop bullets?" he asks with a sniffle.

"Apparently. Just that once, at least. I think I could do whatever was needed to keep you alive until that moment. As if you were meant to…" She furrows her brows. "…Kill Herrick."

"Who's Herrick?" He wipes at his cheeks.

"That Tan who wanted to…" She hesitates, wondering if he remained conscious long enough to witness his handiwork. "The man who interrogated you after you were beaten."

His gaze grows distant as he searches his own memories, then sits up straight. "His eyes went black!"

Annie lets out a shaky breath. "He was a vampire."

"A _what_?"

"They blend in with the rest of humanity, only they're not human. They don't age, and they… drink blood," she says quietly, her mind momentarily reminding her of Mitchell and Hal and how the bloodlust ran a ragged course, stripping them of their identities against their will. "He was a very bad man."

"He reeked of… iron and age."

Annie nods. "He's unnatural. You spared a lot of people by killing him. Including yourself."

His eyes have dried when he looks up at her, and she's happy this revelation has distracted him from his sorrow. Bless the accepting minds of ghosts.

"He was going to turn you," she explains. "Into one of his kind."

"How?"

"I'm not sure, exactly… something to do with biting and drinking blood."

He sniffles, looking down at his body again. "So I would've been a vampire?"

"Yes."

A quietness settles between them that isn't uncomfortable, and Annie allows it, remembering just how much this all was to take in back when it was her turn. About an hour later, the door to the nearby cobbler opens and a man exits to shake out a cloth covered in wood shavings.

Mitchell stiffens as his gaze slides over them when he lights up a cigarette. "He can't see us?"

"No."

"We're… invisible?"

"Like I was to you."

He shifts his folded arms to rest against his chest but keeps his knees pulled up tight, as if he is cold, but Annie knows that ghosts can't really be affected by the weather.

The man takes a long drag then itches at his mustache before his eyes halt as they settle upon the patch of white in the ditch. He steps forward, peering at the odd sight until recognition dawns and he drops his cigarette.

"Jesus Christ."

He hastily crosses himself then just stands there with a hand over his mouth, gazing down at the body.

"He's seen you," Annie whispers. Mitchell stiffens beside her and she rests a hand on his knee in a show of support as the cobbler stares for several more minutes then finally gathers the courage to inch forward, as if just having the thought that the poor fellow might still be alive.

"Hello?" he calls, down to the body, standing beside Mitchell and Annie. "Christ Almighty." He crosses himself again when he sees the frozen blood on the corpse's clothing. "God-damn you Tans. God-fucking-damn you," he hisses.

"Yes," Mitchell shouts in encouragement. "I'm angry, too. Can you hear me?" He asks, climbing to his feet, peering into the man's face.

"He can't, Johnny," Annie reminds him, not moving.

The man hops to the other side of the ditch and slides down, gently rolling the corpse onto its back and feeling the neck for a pulse. "Christ," he curses again before gazing down at the placid, bloodied face with regret. "God help him. They're killing all our young ones."

"You must hear me," Mitchell insists, raising his voice. "I'm shouting right next to you!"

"It's no use," Annie says. "Trust me."

Mitchell growls and kicks at a tuft of grass before wandering back to her as the man climbs out of the ditch. She gazes down at her soldier's dead face for a moment then looks back to the man beside her who seems so very much alive, even though she understands it isn't true. Blood still stains his shirt, and she knows there's nothing to be done about that. It will forever serve as a reminder of the violence that took him from this world.

Taking his hand in hers, she guides him a distance away where they watch as the cobbler fetches his son and the two carry the body out and lie it down on the cold ground.

"Should we call the police?" the son asks and the father shakes his head no.

"God knows, I'm sure they're the ones who did this to him. Our boys would never kill like this. We've got to find out who went missing last night. Those bruises don't look old."

The shaken boy nods and heads back inside, returning with a sheet which they use to wrap the corpse before carrying it to their backdoor, where they rest it outside.

"Aren't they frightened?" Mitchell whispers.

"Of a body?"

"Most people haven't seen as many as I have. As _we_ have," he corrects, looking to her.

She pats his hand. "Do you feel any stronger now?"

He takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily. Some habits of the living never leave. "I think so."

"Shall we go visit Felix?"

"What will they do with me?" he asks, staring at the white sheet.

"I don't know. Give you a proper Catholic burial, I imagine. Which is probably why they don't want the RIC collecting you."

"But they won't send me… I won't be buried on the farm."

She rubs his arm. "We don't know that yet. But your body is just a body now. You're still _you_, remember?"

He nods stiffly and finally tears his eyes away from the sheet to meet her gaze. "Thank God for you, Annie."

She smiles, giving his bicep a squeeze, pretending she doesn't notice the muscle there, or the fact that their existence on the same plane has opened up a whole new set of possibilities that were impossible before. Slipping her hand into his, she gives it a squeeze. "Watch this."

In the blink of an eye, she pops them into the O'Flaherty flat. Mitchell's eyes dart around in surprise. "How –?"

"It's a ghost trick. I'll teach it to you sometime."

He smiles a little then pivots to watch the family. She relaxes her hand, silently telling him that he can let go, but he just holds on all the harder, and she thinks he almost feels warm to her. As if they were two almost-living people touching.

Penny is making tea in the kitchen and Rory and Felix are on the sofa, each looking as if they haven't slept at all. Felix is pressing a damp cloth to the wound on the side of his head where the Tan pistol-whipped him.

Mitchell spots Sean in his crib and tugs on Annie's hand, leading her over to the baby. He smiles down at the one-year old who is grabbing at his toes and lets out a soft sound in greeting. "Have you met Sean?"

"I have. He's lovely."

Mitchell smiles fondly down at him. "Danny was right. He _is_ fat. I hope he grows up all right."

"He can see us, you know." Mitchell shoots her a surprised look and she shrugs. "Babies and animals, it seems. I don't understand it, either."

He turns his gaze back to the baby and tickles his tummy. "Hello_, a__ stóirín_. I love you."

Sean coughs out a brief cackle before kicking his feet and moving to sit up, peering at the two ghosts with a happy expression.

"Johnny is trying to protect us," Penny says, breaking what seems to have been a long silence among the three.

"Penny?" Mitchell calls as she strides past with the kettle, but she doesn't react. Annie doesn't bother correcting him, knowing that hope and denial is all part of the process.

"He's a grown man. He knows what he's doing."

"That doesn't make it right," Rory insists. "I've never felt so cowardly in my life."

"They don't know I'm dead," Mitchell whispers.

"No… not yet." She rests a hand on his back.

"Rory will feel terrible."

"He will."

"But I…" he trails off, shaking his head, losing track of his own thoughts as the conversation continues.

"We'll get him back," Felix announces.

"They could've shot him dead by now for all we know," Rory snaps.

Felix shakes his head. "Not Johnny – if anyone can talk himself out of trouble, it's him."

"Except that they didn't even give him a chance," Annie mourns. Mitchell shoots her a sharp look, drinking in her pained expression.

"How do we get him out?" Rory asks. "We need to ambush the barracks."

"_You_ aren't doing anything," Felix hisses. "If they identify you then he's risked his life for nothing."

"I'm not some damn kid – I won't sit here hiding while –"

"_Rory_," Penny warns as his voice climbs.

"I won't let him bleed for me!"

"We'll talk about this later," Felix snaps, getting up and grabbing his coat. The door is just barely shut and still hanging on its hinges.

"Where are you going?" Penny asks.

"It's freezing in here. I'd like to be able to keep my own door shut. I'll be just down the road."

Penny nods, but her body is rigid with worry. Sighing, Felix crosses to her and gives her a hug and a kiss.

"It's just a hardware store," he soothes. "I'll be fine."

She nods shakily. "Yeah…"

He gives her another kiss on the cheek then is off.

"Can I follow him?" Mitchell asks. "To protect him like you did for me?"

She shrugs. "We can try."

He nods then jogs out after his friend, Annie on his heels, albeit with less enthusiasm.

Mitchell shadows Felix on the street, following him into the hardware store and scolding him when he almost buys a hinge twice the size of what he needs. "He's _never_ had an eye for anything practical," Mitchell complains, and Annie smirks.

Once he's bought the parts, Felix stops outside the shop to have a smoke, leaning his back against a lamp post. The population is trickling out into the streets, going about their daily lives as the morning progresses, and Mitchell watches them with a longing to be among them.

"Heya, Fergie," an older man greets as he pauses in the street. "Everything all right?"

"We're grand," Felix replies, before taking a drag.

"Only Mary and I… we woke up late last night. Sounded like someone on your floor's door banging in."

Felix sighs, stubbing out his cigarette. "That loud, huh?"

"Well, I'm glad to see you safe and sound. I heard they found a body this morning."

Felix's guarded demeanor shatters and his blue eyes dart up to the man's. "They _what_? _Where_?"

"I don't know all the details. Something about a cobbler finding some poor fella in a ditch."

Felix's chest is heaving. "Dead?"

"As a doornail."

"_Christ_."

"It's all right, Felix," Mitchell soothes to his friend's deaf ears. "I'm grand."

"Well, what did he look like? Did he have dark hair? Was he tall?"

"I couldn't tell you. Why? Is someone you know missing?"

"_Which_ cobbler?"

The older man sighs. "I'd tell you if I knew."

Felix tucks the bag under his arm and dashes off, limp and all.

"Felix!" Mitchell calls, breaking into a run to keep up with him as his friend swerves dangerously in front of a buggy, startling the horses. "How can I make him hear me?" he shouts to Annie over his shoulder as she jogs behind.

"You _can't_!"

"But I've heard _you_ before!"

They slow on the other side of the street where Felix starts chatting with a newspaper vendor.

"That was… that was only at random times," Annie tries to explain.

Mitchell groans helplessly as Felix takes off again.

Forty odd minutes later and Mitchell is approaching his friend timidly as the cobbler leads him to the corpse under the sheet. The man pulls back the coverings and Felix lets out a strangled gasp, a hand flying to his mouth as he drops his bag from the hardware store. He lets out another choked sound before flinging his arm out blindly, losing his balance and sinking to his knees.

"Felix," Mitchell pleads, his voice cracking. "Felix, I'm _right here_." He kneels beside his friend who for all the world looks shell shocked. "I'm right here." He rests his ghostly hand on his shoulder.

Felix sucks in a noisy lungful of air before coughing it back out, his eyes shimmering.

"Who was he?" the cobbler quietly asks, watching the young man with concern.

It takes the blonde a moment before he remembers that he can speak. "A… friend. A brother. We served together on the Front. Jesus Christ… what did they _do_ to him? I can't even… I can't…" He pivots away and wretches bile onto the dead grass.

"I'm so sorry, Felix," Mitchell says, tears pooling in his eyes. "I don't want you to have to feel this way. _Please_…"

Annie weeps, though for the heartbreak on Felix's face or Mitchell's, she doesn't know.

"I'm sorry, lad," the cobbler says, resting a hand on his back and offering him his handkerchief. Felix takes it, shakily wiping off his mouth. "Is there family to take the body to?"

Felix nods, his eyes distant. "In Kerry."

The man squeezes his shoulder as he sucks in a shuddering breath with an, "Oh, God, oh _Christ_."

"Why don't you come inside? I've got the kettle on."

Felix reluctantly agrees and follows him in.

Mitchell remains outside, wringing his hands and pacing. "I have to fix him," he croaks. "I can't let him go through this. Not again. Not after Danny. That was the whole point – to spare him."

Annie crosses over to him. "We can't control how other people feel, Johnny."

"But _you_ did," he says, whipping around to face her. "You made me…" He hesitates, his eyes searching her face with breathless determination. "At times I…"

"You what?" she asks, frozen on the edge of his words.

He closes his eyes and looks away, and the hope she didn't know she had dims. "If I can't even console him then why am I still here?" There is anger in his voice, but not at her.

"I don't know," she whispers. "But there _is_ a reason."

"None of this is fair," he whines, turning to face her once more.

"Johnny, I'm not leaving your side. Not now. Not ever."

His face crumples into an expression of pained appreciation before he flings his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. She closes her eyes, the press of his chest to hers more healing than any balm. She cradles his head, his wet cheeks slicking her skin, his faint scent teasing her nose with the aroma of wool and rain. She holds him until his tears stop. Until the world feels fractionally more right.

When he pulls away, his cheeks are tinted with a blush of shame over his needy behavior. She chases it away with a smile and a hand on his cheek, using her thumb to wipe away any remaining tears.

He catches her hand in his, closing his eyes as it rests against his cheek for several moments before pulling it away with a squeeze and an expression of gratitude before leading her into the house.

Felix finishes his tea and is about to head out the door when Mitchell shouts, "Felix, the parts."

The blonde pauses in mid-step then doubles back for his sack, making Mitchell smile slightly.

The two ghosts follow him home, but Mitchell chooses to wait on a stair, huddled and leaning against the rail until the worst of the wailing dies down inside at the news of his death. Annie sits beside him, her shoulder resting against his.

The flat above them slowly quiets, but the weeping comes in cycles and Annie's soldier doesn't feel strong enough to face any of it just yet, so they remain where they are nearly all afternoon, neither saying a word.

"Brigid will be upset," he whispers, his temple resting against the railing.

"Yeah," Annie sighs.

Mitchell's eyes study her face, as if hunting for a reaction to the other woman's name.

"I didn't think… I didn't think that would be the last time I'd speak with her."

"She's strong," Annie says. "And driven. She'll take it in stride." He nods numbly and the silence settles between them again until Annie whispers, "I know you loved her."

His eyes latch onto hers, and for a moment he looks like he's in pain.

She smiles encouragingly. "And she loved _you_."

"Maybe," he replies, his eyes shying away. "But I miss her, either way."

Annie furrows her brow, studying him for a long time before both of their thoughts drift elsewhere. "Let's go see how they're getting on," she suggests, slipping her hand into his.

He nods and climbs to his feet with her, heading inside.

Penny's eyes are red but dry and Rory is lying face down on the sofa. Felix's expression is hard as he gazes out the window. Mitchell heads over to his friend, studying his face then following his listless gaze to the street below.

"I feel like we're in hell," Felix whispers.

Mitchell rests his hand on his. "We never really left the trenches, did we?"

Felix draws in a deep, shuddering breath. At length, he abandons his post and sets to work fixing the door. No one says much as night settles in, and they eat a quiet meal.

"They know where we live," Rory pipes up once their bowls are empty. "We ought to move before they come back. Or else Johnny died for nothing."

Felix fixes him with a curious gaze, and the two ghosts know he's happy to see his brother showing a spark of life.

"I will feel terrible about what he did for the rest of my life," Rory continues quietly. "But I suppose that's the point, isn't it? That I'll _have_ a life. We all will... unlike Danny. He did this for you, too, Felix. And Penny and Sean."

Penny nods stiffly, her lower lip trembling. "I know he did. I knew it the moment he said he was you."

"He shouldn't have had to bear our punishment," Felix says, rubbing his eyes.

"It was his choice," Penny repeats. "And he was at the ambush sure as Rory was. God love him for it."

Rory sighs shakily, but looks more alive than he has in days.

The family falls asleep early, exhausted from the previous night and their tears. Mitchell gazes out the window as a lorry full of Tans rolls past.

"We don't need sleep," Annie says, cutting through the quietness that has grown between them as she approaches him at the window. "I was usually up on the roof at the farm, keeping a look out."

Mitchell closes his eyes, his brow furrowing, and she worries she's hit a nerve by bringing up home.

"I'm sorry," she mutters. "I'm just so used to talking to myself that I don't –"

"Why me?" he whispers, his forehead pressed to the pane.

"I don't know," she says with a sigh. "I don't think anyone ever really understands why they die when they do. It always feels random and unfair."

"No," he breathes. "Not that." He hesitates then tilts his head to press a brow to the pane as he looks at her. "Why were _you_ sent to protect me? Why not someone I knew, like my gran?"

"I…" She hesitates, searching his open eyes. "I did know you," she finally admits, feeling a damn cracking inside.

"How?"

"We… it was in another time," she fumbles. "The time where I come from. Which is why I'm dressed like this. A time that hasn't happened yet."

She looks away from his face, gazing out the window as she remembers their accidental kiss and the way he clung to her in purgatory. The way his lips felt before he died, as if he was already slipping through her fingers. Her eyes fill with tears as the streetlamps below are lit, becoming blurry globs.

"What was I like?" he whispers.

"Patient," she says. "Kind, giving… you cared very much about people, even if you… you were cursed. Like Herrick. You didn't _want_ to kill people, but you did. And you hated yourself for it."

He sucks in a sudden breath. "I killed you."

"No!" She shakes her head, looking to him as her tears fall. "No, I was dead before we met."

His eyes cloud with confusion. "I could see you?"

She nods. "And hear me… and touch me." She looks back out the window, her heart aching over how she had once taken his _I love you_ and told him it was inadequate. _Inadequate_. Then had sent him off to Herrick and his death.

"How?"

"You were a vampire," she says with a shuddering breath, her gaze distant. "They can see ghosts. Though Herrick couldn't see me here, so I… I don't know what to say, really."

He doesn't speak for some time, allowing her space with her memories of another life as she gazes listlessly out the window, the tears in her eyes shimmering like jewels. At length she becomes aware of a soft pressure between her shoulder blades. It trails up her spine and parts the hair falling on her neck, making her close her eyes and loose her tears.

"Annie?" he whispers, and his voice is so soft and hoarse that she can hardly hear it as his hand comes to rest on the nape of her neck. "Did you love me then?"

She takes in a slow, ragged breath and opens her eyes before she turns her face to his, her lips parted.

"Because… I think I love you now," he whispers, his forehead coming to rest against hers.

Annie's chest clenches and she moves her jaw, her mind suddenly blank as he drinks in her expression. Then he tilts his chin and his lips press against hers in a shy kiss that she is too distracted to return, for his leg is touching hers, his thumb is pressing gently into her neck, and his stubble is scratching her face with the most wonderful tickle.

He starts to pull away when she doesn't react, and before she knows it, her hands have darted out and caught his face, yanking him back towards her as she kisses him back with a heat she hasn't experienced since life. His lips feel like they're smiling as his other hand comes up to rest on her waist, and she smiles back, pressing her chest against his.

Time slips and slides around them, and the only thing she's aware of is his touch, and the way that every time one of them starts to pull away, the other tugs them back in. At length, he chuckles softly, and Annie forces herself to slow down as she whispers "What?" against his lips.

"We don't have to breathe," he says.

Annie giggles, giving him one last kiss before shifting her arms to hug his neck, pulling him to her. He nuzzles into her hair, closing his eyes as he rubs her back.

"I'm sorry if I'm forward," he murmurs against her.

She pulls away to gaze up into his eyes, taking a moment to brush aside a stray curl. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. To your question. I loved you… very much." Her fingers slide through his hair. "And I lost you."

His face cracks, as if he's on the verge of tears, and his voice shakes. "Oh, but I've been missing you my whole life, darling." His eyes desperately search hers. "I… _Tá mo chroí istigh ionat. A Ghrá, a rún, a stór_." (_My heart is within you. My love, my dear, my darling_.)

Annie's whole body smiles as she giggles over his loss of language control. "That last one I know,_a stóirín_." (_My little darling_)

He grins, slipping his fingers into hers, toying with her hands, sending teasing tingles up her spine. "Haven't I been the fool?" he whispers with a lilting laugh in his voice. "Falling in love with a ghost? And an English one, at that."

She shakes her head, smiling. "No more mad than me being here, out of time and place, but loving you all the same, even when you couldn't see me."

His eyes search hers with delight for a moment before yanking him back to her in a fierce hug, as if afraid she'll fade away.

"I can feel the sun," he whispers, though both are fully aware that it has been dark for some time.

Annie smiles, her head tucked under his chin. "So can I."

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	34. Martial Law

_**You guys are so incredibly wonderful and supportive! I am writing an original series of books (based on an idea I had at the end of this story) and though I know none of you can read it yet, your blessed enthusiasm bleeds through into every word I write. Thank you. :)**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**34. Martial Law**

Annie and Mitchell pass the night wrapped in each other's arms, and the longer she spends pressed against him, the more alive she feels. For the first time in years, she can smell and touch and almost taste him, and so long as they're together, they're warm.

They lie down beneath the window, their limbs tangled up, and he feels as if he won't let her go for the life – or death – of him. She never realized just how starved for affection she was until she felt his arms around her. They hardly speak, and though she knows hours must have passed for the sun to already be rising, the night still feels far too brief.

His eyes shift from happy to troubled several times during the night, and she has to remind herself that there is still so much adjusting he must endure. Her thumb runs along his shirt, absently picking at the stiff, dried blood, even if she knows it won't come off. A part of her had hoped that returning her love was his unfinished business, but it doesn't seem to be the case. Maybe he's right and he's meant to protect Felix or Rory. Or even Sean. Whatever it is, she hopes that when it's time for him to go, she'll leave with him.

When the family starts stirring around them, she sits up and kisses his chin before tugging him up with her.

Penny fetches the paper and starts reading the listings, seemingly having taken Rory's advice to heart. Felix reads the front page as he munches on a piece of toast, his chewing slowing when he spots an article about an unidentified man found beaten to death the previous morning.

"We're gonna have to tell his parents," Felix grimly announces, making Penny look up. "They haven't released his name. And even if they do, it'll likely be Rory."

Penny nods sadly before peering down at Sean in his pram beside her. "The poor things… I can't imagine how his mother will feel. I don't want to."

Mitchell sucks in a lungful of air then, to Annie's surprise and his, pops to the furthest side of the flat. Looking around in surprise, he briefly meets Annie's gaze before stepping out into the hallway. Annie pops out after him and finds him on the landing below.

"I'm scared," he whispers, pacing with agitation, his hands over his ears.

"Of what?"

"I don't know. Of never seeing my mam, my da…"

She shrugs half-heartedly. "Well, we could always go visit –"

"Of the pain I've caused them."

"I know, but sweetheart, but that can't be –"

A gunshot in the street cuts her off. The two share a frightened look before dashing back up the stairs and into the flat. Felix and Penny are at the window, peering out at a gathering crowd while Rory paces, tugging on his own hair. Felix shoves the window open as an English soldier stands on the hood of an armored car, reading aloud from a piece of paper in a thundering voice.

"Martial law," Felix breathes, looking back in at his family. "They've declared martial law."

"What's that mean?" Rory asks. "_Exactly_?"

Felix's eyes darken. "It means they can do whatever the hell they want to us with no one to answer to."

"Like they aren't all ready," Penny scoffs, pulling away from the window.

"This is bad," Mitchell breathes. He looks down at Annie when she hugs his arm out of habit, and she smiles inside as he notices the action for the first time.

"We need to leave," Penny says, picking up Sean. "What about your parents' house?"

"That'll be the first place they'll look," Rory says. "They know we're O'Flahertys."

"Where then?" Penny asks, her green eyes widening with fear as the shouting continues below.

"My parents'," Mitchell whispers. "Stay with my parents," he says to Penny. "The Tans don't know we're friends. There'll be no connection between here and Kerry."

But Penny can't hear him, and Felix is back at the window, listening to the soldier, and Rory is still pacing, lost in his own thoughts.

Mitchell sighs with regret and watches them for several minutes before turning to Annie. "The note."

"What?"

"You left me a note. I could leave Felix one."

"Yes, but… it would have to be after dark. We can't very well risk them glancing over and seeing a pen moving over paper on its own. Imagine what a fright that would be."

Mitchell takes a deep breath but doesn't protest, knowing he should follow her lead when it comes to anything ghostly. As such, they wait in the house, watching for the first moment when no one is in the room, but the moment never comes.

Annie busies herself while Penny is making dinner and Felix is packing by playing peek-a-boo with Sean. Mitchell hugs her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, making her grin at the simple affectionate act. She runs her fingers over their linked hands and leans her shoulders back into his chest, closing her eyes. He doesn't have to speak for her to know how worried he is.

That night after ten, the streets are crawling with police and their armored cars, hunting down anyone out after curfew. Looking out the window now is akin to gazing at another city. Once the family has settled their nerves enough to sleep, Mitchell tugs out the receipt from the hardware store and poises to write on the back, hesitating.

"What you're doing is very dangerous," Annie warns. "There are sort of… unspoken rules. We're not supposed to interfere with the living."

"Like you didn't interfere with me."

"You know that was different," she says softly, running her hand along his arm.

He returns his gaze to the slip of paper, biting his lip as he tries to decide what to write. Thinking better of it, he finds an envelope in the trash and writes on the back: _If anything should happen to me_, _for I fear it may, then I want you to be safe. Go to my parents in Dingle. They'll shelter you as long as they can_. _Forever your brother and friend, Johnny._

While waiting for the ink to dry, he scouts out locations where he could have hid the note before his arrest without it being seen. Remembering where he slept on the floor that night, he sticks it under the rug, making sure the tip is peeking out.

He looks to Annie for approval and she grins. "Excellent work, my lad."

They tuck themselves away in a corner and he kisses her forehead as he pulls her to him. "I don't think I've ever told you how brave you were," she whispers, "to have given your life up for them."

"They have a child," is all he says, and she knows that makes all the difference in the world to him.

"Sean is one lucky baby."

"Let's hope." He squeezes her and she drapes one of her legs over his. He looks from their legs to her face. "Annie?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't know anything about you."

She peels her head off his shoulder to peer up at him with a timid gaze. "What do you mean?"

"You make me feel such passion," he says, tucking some hair behind her ear. "More than I ever felt for Brigid. But I don't know how or why."

She shrugs a little. "You sometimes seemed to sense how I felt for you and… maybe that made you want to return it."

He sighs and rests his forehead to hers, squeezing his eyes shut, his hand lingering on her cheek. "Can't we just make all of this go away, and it could just be you and me at a farm down the road from my parents?"

She smiles a little, bringing her hand up to rest on his. "Wouldn't that be something?"

"Only, it figures," he says, opening his eyes, "that the moment I find my matching heart, there's nothing we can do about it."

She studies him for a moment before kissing him, massaging his lower lip with hers. "You can feel that, can't you?"

He nods.

"And this?" she asks, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and planting brief, teasing kisses along his collarbone, made hot by her tongue.

"Yes," he whispers breathily.

"And how about…" She slides her leg the rest of the way over his, scooting forward until their hips meet. His eyes are a comical mix of apprehension and wonder as she guides his hands to her rump. "This?" she whispers, leaning forward to kiss him again with a gentle rock of her hips.

His fingers tightening against her flesh is all the confirmation she needs as she slips her tongue between his lips, lapping at his shy mouth until he responds in kind. She lets out a soft, happy sound of encouragement when he follows her lead and chases her tongue with his, pressing his lips harder against hers.

Her hand slides under his shirt, massaging the muscles of his chest that she has spent so much time gazing at longingly. Rocking her hips again makes him let out a happy whimper, and the sound is enough to make her body growl and quiver with lust, wanting nothing more than to elicit that noise again.

She nips at his lower lip as she grabs one of his hands and guides it up to rest on her hardening breast, rocking again. But instead of moaning, he yanks his head away from hers with a startled gasp.

"What is it?" she groans, so buried in the heat they're making that she doesn't know if she can stop after being deprived for so long.

"This…" he starts, but the movement of his lips against hers has sent a trill through her and she slips out her tongue, using it as she works on his lower lip, preventing him from finishing. He nearly succumbs to her attention but then gently presses her away until she is forced to meet his gaze. "This is wrong," he whispers, though his eyes and flushed face betray that she was doing him all kinds of right.

"Why?" she asks, slipping her hand out of his shirt to rest on his chest.

"There are other _people_ in here."

She shakes her head. "They can't hear us."

"But still… I would feel… awkward."

Though she hates herself for it, she sighs and climbs off of him, sitting down a ways away until she cools off. "Well, at least we know one thing," she muses, the back of her head resting against the wall.

"What's that?" He slides his hand over hers and rubs the back of it with his thumb.

"That both of us being dead means there's still _definitely_ something we can do about it." She smiles at him despite her disappointment. "I haven't felt that alive since I died."

"Neither have I, but that's not saying much, is it?"

She smirks and when he holds out his arm for her, she crawls over and snuggles against him once more. He squeezes her, kissing the top of her head.

Rory finds the note the following morning when he's lying on the sofa, half awake and studying the dreary world with bleary eyes. Padding over to it, he picks it up and reads it with a growing frown, his gaze sharpening.

Annie smiles proudly then darts a tickling hand to Mitchell's side, making him chuckle as he fixes her with an adoring gaze.

A half hour later and the note is in Felix's hand and he's crying again, like a baby. It's nearly noon before Penny can get him to issue a coherent response about taking their friend up on the offer. She takes Sean with her to buy the tickets, for she figures even the Tans wouldn't harass a woman with a baby.

Annie trails her, leaving Mitchell alone for the first time to watch over the boys. As she winds down the streets, she is filled with a growing sense of tension and fear and scolds herself for not being able to leave her soldier's side for a few minutes. But then, as she glances at the passerby while Penny purchases the tickets, she realizes that the tension isn't coming from her. It's from the people around her.

Penny seems to have picked up on it, as well, for she pushes Sean home in the pram at a clipped speed. Annie is relieved to find the family and Mitchell just as they left them, and so is Penny.

"It's mad out there," she says, unwinding the scarf from her head.

"What happened?" Felix asks.

"Nothing really. It's just…" She shakes her head. "I got the tickets. Three for us, Sean will sit on my lap."

Felix crosses over to her and kisses her temple. "Bless you, Penny."

"We leave at midnight."

"But the curfew's at ten," Rory says.

"Then we'll slip out. It's only about fifteen minutes by foot. Less if we can catch the last tram."

Rory nods, but doesn't look convinced.

"We'll follow them," Mitchell decides. "Can you show me how to protect them?"

Annie shakes her head. "I've acted on pure instinct every time. Except for the last time."

Mitchell sighs, watching Felix pick up Sean, cooing to him as he fusses.

"Right," Penny announces. "Let's get packing. Take only what you'll need. I'm sure we'll be back."

"No," Rory says. "Take everything you want to keep. As soon as word spreads that the flat is empty, there will be looters."

Penny stiffly nods and no one has to ask who the looters will be.

The family has packed all their pictures and valuables and is nearly ready to go when a fire truck sounds its sirens and hauls past beneath their flat. Mitchell shoots Annie a worried look then crosses over to the window to spy out.

"Let's hurry, then," Felix urges, tucking Sean into the pram. "We want to catch the tram by ten. The Auxies might be distracted helping with the fire."

Penny nods as she puts on her coat. Rory takes their suitcases down then heads back up and helps Penny carry the pram down the stairs as quietly as they can.

Felix lingers in the flat, his eyes scanning the main room for anything essential they may have left behind. He's about to leave when his eyes latch onto Mitchell's note. He strides across the room and snatches it up, folding it carefully and tucking it into his pocket before limping out the door.

Annie and Mitchell follow him, and the three are soon reunited with the other trio waiting on the last floor.

"If anyone asks," Felix says, "We live on the other side of town and are coming home from visiting your mam."

"I don't have a mam."

"They don't know that."

Penny nods and adjusts her headscarf. "Stick close to me boys. I had no trouble earlier."

The two men nod and follow her out, carrying their suitcases as inconspicuously as they're able. Annie grabs Mitchell's hand and pops them out onto the street ahead of the family. The streets are full of clusters of people hurrying home but the pathway to the nearest tram is clear.

"So far so good," Mitchell mutters.

Then Rory slows, looking over his shoulder. "Is that smoke?"

Felix looks as well, but only for second before bumping his brother's shoulder with his. "Just keep moving."

The two ghosts follow Rory's gaze and Mitchell jogs out into the street a ways to see down and around the corner. "There's a building on fire," he calls back to Annie.

"Get back here," she hisses. Before he has a chance, there's an explosion in the distance, followed by the tinkle of shattering glass.

"Shite," Felix hisses, urging them faster. "Keep moving!"

"Johnny!" Annie scolds and he pops back to her side, once again looking surprised that he managed it as Annie glares at him.

"I can't be harmed," he protests.

"You can still get lost."

He smirks at her with a tickled expression in his eyes, as if delighting in her protective instincts.

The O'Flahertys board the tram with a crowd of others and are settled by the time it starts moving on the electric tracks. Their two ghosts stand in the aisle, and Mitchell gasps and latches onto Annie when someone walks through him for the first time.

"Odd, isn't it?" she asks, and he nods before rubbing his hands over his body chasing away the tingles.

The tram weaves its way through the city, and the people on it gasp when they pass by a department store that's been set ablaze.

"How on earth…?" Penny starts to ask but is silenced by screams erupting around her as dozens of guns blaze just outside. Felix hunches over Penny, shielding her as she covers Sean. Rory climbs to his feet as the tram grates to a halt, surrounded by Auxies and Tans.

"Everybody out!" one of the men bellows. "Now!" he fires his gun into the air for emphasis.

* * *

**_Please share your thoughts!_**


	35. Cork

**Annie's Soldier**

**35. Cork**

"Fergus?" Penny asks, her voice strained with fear.

"It's all right, love. It'll be all right." He helps her up and hands her suitcase to Rory before exiting with the other passengers. Annie grabs Mitchell's hand and pops out with him into the street. He weaves through the crowd to reach his friends while the police start barking at the passengers to line up against a nearby wall.

When no one budges, the men bring their rifles to bear, striking arms and backs and legs with the butts of their weapons. An older woman screams as she is knocked to the ground and when her husband crouches to help her up, he is struck on the side of the head, splitting his scalp open.

"What're you doing?" Mitchell bellows at the officer who struck the man. "You God-damn coward!" He tries to shove the man but his hands just go through him.

"This is bad…" Annie mutters, her wide eyes grazing the dozen or more men facing the unarmed crowd. "This is bad…"

"Hail Mary full of grace," Penny mutters in a shaking voice as she, Felix and Rory start towards the wall, Felix's steady hand on her back guiding her. "Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…"

Sean starts crying as more gunshots erupt nearby and Felix lets go of his wife to place his hands on the wall like everyone else.

"Christ, Felix," Rory breathes, his breath shaking, crossing himself before bracing his hands against the wall, as well. A Tan strikes him in the small of the back anyway, barking something indiscernible amidst Rory's pained cry.

"Leave him be!" Felix yells, only to have his head yanked back by his hair and a bayonet held to his neck.

"No, God, please," Penny gasps, clinging to her wailing baby. "He won't harm you."

"Shut up, bitch! And shut up your whelp!" the soldier screams before biting his lip and angling the blade into Felix's neck.

"No!" Mitchell bellows, flying to his friend's side, a breeze kicking up around him. Blood starts trickling from the wound and Felix screws his eyes shut. Annie latches onto Penny and the baby, shielding them.

Mitchell grunts, using both hands to shove at the officer and sliding right through him, but kicking up enough of a breeze to blow the man's beret off his head.

The centralized gust startles the Tan and he pulls the blade off of the blonde's neck as he looks about for his hat. Felix opens his eyes and slams himself back against the wall, his chest heaving.

Mitchell stands at his friend's side, snarling, the discarded newspapers at his feet skittering about with the strength of his anger. Annie watches him over her shoulder with wide eyes, for it was at least a year before she could stir the air like that.

An explosion startles them all and they peer over to see that an Auxie has chucked a grenade into the tram, shattering the windows and setting it ablaze.

"Well, well, well," drawls a familiarly nasal voice, and both Annie and Mitchell pivot to find the source.

It's Sands.

"It's precisely ten o'clock." He smirks wickedly. "We have caught you folks out after curfew, which means you're all law breakers." He nods to his men. "Search them."

The men begin patting down the passengers, slugging anyone even vaguely resisting with the butts of their rifles.

"That's him," Mitchell breathes. "That's the Tan who…."

"Who shot you," Annie finishes for him.

Penny tilts her head to stare at her husband with a terrified expression, tears in her eyes as she watches the blood trickle down his neck from the fresh wound.

One of the men roughly searches her, his hand intentionally lingering on her breast.

"Get your hands off her," Mitchell snarls, the wind around him stirring again.

"Feeding baby, are we?" the man leers, and Penny bites her lip to keep from yelping when he gives it a squeeze.

Felix's gaze darts to the man's hand but Penny's silent plea for him not to say a word is so intense that he complies.

"And what's this?" he asks, pulling out the train tickets.

"My… my mam's sick," Penny says. "We were off to see her one last time."

"Well I've got news for you, sweetheart." He leans in to her ear. "I don't give a fuck about your dear old mum." He throws the tickets on the ground then stomps on them before moving on to Felix.

Felix keeps his eyes latched onto Penny's as he is roughly searched. The soldier finds a wad of cash he'd tucked in his pocket for their journey but the blonde doesn't protest as the man transfers it straight to his own.

Another explosion sounds from down the road, and Mitchell and Annie whip their heads around to see Tans and Auxies breaking windows and dousing stores with gasoline before hurling grenades in through the shattered glass. Several bear mugs and flasks and walk crookedly, as if having just raided a pub.

"Jesus Christ," Mitchell, breathes. "They're sacking Cork."

The windows of a jewelry shop are blown open and the uniformed men pour in. The Auxies and Tans retaining the passengers watch with envy as some of their comrades dash off to join in the looting.

"Ah, what the hell." Sands waves an arm, dismissing the rest. One of the passengers dares to budge to see what's going on. "You don't move!" Sands screams, firing at the woman's feet.

Rory is at the end of the wall and closes his eyes as Sean's stroller burns atop the tram, along with most of their belongings.

"Johnny," Annie says lowly. "We have to get them out of here."

He nods, his eyes glinting in the light of the burning buildings.

Sands eases himself against a wall on the opposite side of the street, casually keeping his two pistols trained on the civilians.

There's another explosion followed by sirens as a fire brigade arrives at the scene, parking just feet from the passengers. One of the firemen hops out and dashes to the nearby hydrant, only to be shot by Sands.

"What the hell are you doing?" another firefighter calls from the truck. "Are you blind?"

He hops out to help his comrade then ducks when Sands fires at him, as well. The rest of the firefighters start shouting and Sands laughs, turning his guns on them.

"Now," Mitchell barks in Felix's ear.

The blonde latches onto Penny's shoulder and shoves Rory ahead of him. Penny snatches up the trampled tickets then the three break into a sprint, heading for the street while Sands is momentarily distracted by his target practice.

The crowd shrieks at the gunfire and attempts to disperse, but not even the two ghosts ever know what happens next, for they dash off behind the family.

Gunshots ring out all over the city, but Rory sets a breakneck pace, weaving through the streets towards the train station.

"Keep going!" Mitchell encourages as he jogs alongside them, his eyes peering all about the grid work of buildings. They pass by a pub being raided by several Tans, and when the men see them running past, they fire a few lazy shots in their direction. Felix yelps and ducks, wrapping an arm around Penny and Sean as they continue. The Tans let out roars of laughter and let off a few more rounds into the sky.

The bricks of the train station come into view and the streets on this end of town are nearly deserted. An empty tram rolls past, only to slow to a halt after an explosion somewhere in the city center.

"That'll be the electricity," Mitchell warns, his wild eyes darting along the orange horizon.

Annie tugs on his arm. "We're almost there."

"I need a _body_, Annie," he growls. "Someone's got to fight back."

"Oh, do you have _any_ idea how much work that would've been for me?" she snaps as they cross the street, arriving at the train station.

He gives her a curious glance and she all but rolls her eyes.

"You have no _concept_ of what I've been through – trouble follows you like… like something that follows!"

He chuckles softly, despite their situation.

Penny hands Felix the tickets and he takes them to the booth, only to find the post abandoned.

"Then let's go on," Rory urges and they make their way to the train and find an open car. Slipping inside, they take their seats, finding a handful of people already inside, having had the same idea.

Penny starts to sit by a window where she can see out but Felix gently tugs her away. "Glass shatters."

Nodding, she takes an aisle seat instead and he sits down in one beside her. Rory runs his fingers through his hair and peers outside. "This is madness… the whole city's on fire. Did you see them shooting at the brigade? At the God-damn _firefighters_?"

Felix nods stiffly, catching his breath, pressing a hand to the gash on his neck that is still slowly trickling blood.

"They're insane," Penny gasps.

Mitchell watches his friends' sweaty, sooty faces with worry. Annie steps up beside him and hugs his arm.

"What if they blow up the train like the tram?" Penny asks, agitating the other few passengers.

Felix shakes his head. "They need this line as much as we do to move troops. They wouldn't touch it if they had an ounce of intelligence, though that doesn't seem likely."

Enough time goes by that Rory peeks out at the clock on the side of the station. "Christ, it's almost midnight. This train's not leaving and we're sitting ducks."

Felix rises and heads to the door, peering out into the night. Thundering sounds echo across the orange-tinted sky as buildings collapse and grenades go off. Black smoke billows into the sky, obscuring the moon, and somewhere in the distance, glass shatters and a man shouts, followed by a woman's scream. Mitchell stands beside his friend, watching with grotesque fascination as his city burns.

Forty-five minutes later, the conductor makes his way to the train with his family. After a few harried exchanges, he takes his post, and the train comes to life. Felix hurries back to his seat beside Penny and hugs her, kissing her temple as she closes her eyes in relief when the train starts crawling out of the station.

Mitchell slips outside and Annie follows him as he climbs onto the roof, watching the terror fade into the distance. Annie wraps her arms around him, resting her cheek on his chest as he hugs her back.

"This is why our rebellions have never succeeded," he says darkly. "We killed seventeen… _seventeen_, out of _thousands_. And this is how they punish us." He shakes his head. "No one in their right mind would allow this."

Annie wants to tell him that it will all be ok, because it turned out well enough for Ireland in her world, but for all she knows, the future of his nation has been altered in this timeline.

Once back in the car, they find that the passengers have grouped together and are swapping tales of what happened on their way to the train station as their nerves settle. There's a rumor that the IRA are being shot dead in their beds, and that the fires started at the barracks by Dillon's Cross where there was an IRA assault on a lorry of Auxies.

The train arrives in Kerry in the light of dawn, and the quiet countryside is a far cry from the chaos they left behind. The family has slept little on the ride, except for Sean. As they step off the train, blinking in the light, bewildered and filthy, Annie realizes that they've lost everything but the clothes on their backs.

They shuffle over to a bench and sit down, and Annie is reminded of how young in years they all still are, for at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, Felix is the oldest of the group.

She sighs, sitting down beside Penny on the bench, peering at the sleeping baby.

Felix orders Rory to stay with his wife then pokes about, Mitchell at his side. "You'll have to hitch a ride," Mitchell says. "You're too tired to walk like this."

Only a handful of people are out this early on a cold morning, and all cast the filthy family curious glances. "We're just in from Cork," Felix explains to a man who stops to ask if they need help. "The Tans are sacking the city."

"God Almighty."

A familiar face peers over at the two after signing for a package. As he approaches, Mitchell recognizes him as Collins.

"I couldn't help but overhear," he says, and Felix stiffens at his accent.

"Martial Law has been declared here, as well," the other man says. "I've got to get home. What if they start torching us, as well?" He hurries off, and Felix watches him go with sharp eyes.

"Wait – sir – can you tell me where the Mitchell's dairy is?"

The man keeps going but Collins speaks beside him. "Are you friends of the Mitchells?"

Felix nods, returning his attention to the man. "Their son, Johnny. We served together."

"He was a patient of mine," Collins says. "I'm sure it would do him well to have you visit. How kind of you."

Mitchell's shoulders slump.

Felix looks as if fractures are erupting on his skin as he gazes into the older man's eyes. "God, if only that were true."

Collins furrows his brows, shifting his package to his hip.

"He… he joined a flying column," Felix croaks.

"Good God, I had no idea. He wasn't well enough for that."

"Sure, it doesn't much matter now anyway," Felix whispers. "The Tans beat him to death."

Collins stares at him for some time, his lips parted as if to ask how or why, but instead he just closes his eyes. "What a waste," he hisses. "What a terrible, _terrible_ waste of life."

Felix nods, his jaw quivering as his eyes shimmer. "We've come to tell his folks."

"They don't know?"

He shakes his head, sniffing as his tears fade.

Collins peers at the other three on the bench behind him. "Have you a ride? It's a long walk from here to there."

"We'll sort something out."

"Then consider yourselves sorted." Collins holds up the package. "I practice out of Dingle and am on my way back now. You're welcome to a lift, but I only have room in the cab for one. The rest will have to ride in the back."

Felix's expression is hard as he stares at the man, and for a moment, both Collins and Mitchell are worried he's about to blow, but instead he yanks the surprised man into a hug. "God bless you, sir. God bless you," Felix squeaks out, making the veterinarian chuckle softly.

Felix releases him then heads over to share the news with his wife and brother, who have huddled up close against the cold.

Mitchell remains where he was standing beside Felix and Collins, and sucks in a surprised breath when Annie slips her hand into his. "We can get there before them," she says quietly.

He nods stiffly then squeezes her hand.

Annie pops them back to the farm, and Mitchell gasps when he is suddenly standing in the main room, his mother ladling out porridge for his father. The hearth crackles and the kindling is still the wood he chopped. Kitten Annie snoozes in a corner on one of his old jackets that someone has laid down for her. His mattress by the fire is gone, and the family is quiet.

Mitchell lets go of Annie's hand to clamp his over his mouth, his eyes glistening as he's overwhelmed by what was his home. Annie's own throat tightens at his reaction, and she rubs his back.

Ms. Hannigan seems to have found other living arrangements, for there is no sign of her. Una hisses as she burns her finger on the stove while shoving the pot back into place.

"You all right, love?" Malachy asks.

She sucks on her finger. "Grand."

"Oh, Mam," Mitchell whimpers, crossing over to her, watching her tearily, as if hoping she'll notice he's there. "Mam?"

"Johnny…" Annie quietly warns.

He reaches out and his hand glides through her shoulder, making him gasp as his tears fall.

Annie shakes her head, her own eyes shimmering. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"Da?" he asks, crouching beside his father's chair, but the man continues to eat in silence. "Da?" he repeats miserably, falling onto the seat of his pants with a sob.

Annie crosses over to him and kneels on the floor, hugging him and rubbing his back as he weeps, letting out the most desperate, broken sounds that chip away at her soul.

"It's all right, sweetheart," she whispers into his hair, rocking him. "It's the only way it can be. They love you no less."

The family has long since cleared the dishes of their small meal by the time her soldier stops crying enough to function, and Annie is grateful the house isn't electrified, or else she's certain he would've blown up all the bulbs.

She kisses his forehead and tugs on his hand, coaxing him to his feet. He gazes around the room with miserable, reddened eyes, then spots his kitten trotting over to him with a quiet meow. Sniffling, he bends down and strokes her head, making her purr and rub against his leg.

Annie doesn't have the heart to tell him that he shouldn't be so obvious, and glances around to see if anyone has noticed. She freezes when she sees that someone has. Una is drying a bowl, staring at the cat's odd behavior with a furrowed brow.

"Annie," she calls, drawing the attention of the two ghosts. "What's gotten into you?"

The cat purrs, rubbing against Mitchell's shin, making Una fix it with a suspicious look in her eyes.

The sound of an approaching motor makes Mitchell straighten and look towards the sound. "That's them, isn't it?"

Annie rubs his back.

"Annie…" he whispers, "I can't do this."

"I know it's hard. It always is when people actually miss you."

He shakes his head, his breathing hitching. "I can't… It'll be worse than when I left…"

A car door shuts outside and he flinches then starts wheezing, as if he's hyperventilating despite the fact that he doesn't need air.

"Annie," he says, frightened.

"Johnny, you need to calm down," she says firmly as Una opens the door and steps outside when she recognizes Collins.

"Annie, what's happening to me?" He holds up his hand as it fades away.

"Oh God," she squawks.

"_Annie_?"

"Johnny, look at me. You need to calm down."

He shakes his head violently. "I'm _disappearing_!"

"Anchor yourself!"

Another car door shuts and he whimpers, flickering to the point that she can see right through him.

"Johnny!"

He's beyond helping himself and Annie moans, having no idea how to help him.

* * *

_**Please share your thoughts!**_

_**A letter from a member of the RIC to his mother:**_

_**Aux. Division, RIC,**_

_**Dunmanway,**_

_**Co. Cork**_

_**16.12.20**_

_**In all my life I have never experienced such orgies of murder, arson and looting as I have witnessed during the past 16 days with the RIC Auxiliaries. It baffles description. And we are supposed to be officers and gentlemen. There are quite a number of descent fellows and likewise a lot of ruffians […] Many who witnessed similar scenes in France and Flanders say, that nothing they had experienced was comparable to the punishment meted out in Cork.**_


	36. Wonders of the Universe

_**GAH! I spent all day yesterday trying to post this chapter but some glitch in the site wouldn't let me, so you have my sincerest apologies! Hopefully the wait will have been worth it, for both you and Annie... may you get that after you finish reading ;)**_

**_I've also decided not to split up the rest of the story... which means that this is the second to last installment of our soldier's journey. Enjoy!_  
**

**Annie's Soldier**

**36. Wonders of the Universe**

Acting on instinct, Annie grabs what's left of Michell's face and kisses him fiercely, even as her fingers slide through his melting spirit. There is a faint returning pressure on her lips, but it grows stronger as the skin beneath her fingers firms up again. Soon his lips are fully formed and kissing her back, then his hands are on her waist and the breeze around them is teasing her curls and blowing his against her cheek.

Carefully pulling away, she looks up into his solid, tear-stained face and smiles weakly. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers, gratitude radiating from him. She tucks his hair behind his ears then whispers, "Don't ever do that to me again."

He nods, even though she knows it's an empty promise since he had no idea how it even happened to begin with.

Pulling away a little, he looks around them with mild surprise in his reddened eyes. Annie follows his gaze, surprised to find that she has popped them to a cliff overlooking the sea. "I remember this place," she whispers. "You used to fish here."

He nods, and when several minutes pass without him speaking, her worry peaks again, for she has never seen another ghost look so exhausted.

"Let's let them be for now," she says. The thought of Una and Malachy's anguish at the news Felix will bring them is something she has fought to avoid for years. She takes his hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. "We can just… go for a walk and enjoy the day."

He nods again and falls into step beside her as she leads the way. They meander along the coast for some time, drinking in the rugged beauty of the untamed Atlantic. Gulls swoop by every now and again, sometimes chortling at the pair, but even their cackling acknowledgement isn't enough to stir her soldier, so she changes routes, heading inland, following a stream that is spilling into ocean.

They come to rest at a grassy patch of bank, enclosed by ferns and birch trees. She sits down, tugging him to the ground with her, and for a while the quiet trickle of water and the pale winter sunlight soothe her. When she looks to Mitchell, however, his expression is just as miserable as before.

"Don't do that," she whispers, and he sluggishly looks to her in question. "Don't leave a piece of yourself in the house with your pain. You didn't mean for it to happen and you can do nothing to change it now, so it's no use grieving."

He lets out a shuddering breath. "I can hear their weeping in my head."

Annie studies him for some time, worried he'll fade into one of those mindless ghosts who paces up and down stairs and shuffles about in attics.

"Don't focus on that. Focus on me." She rests her hand on his cheek and turns his face towards hers and leans into his lips. "Focus on this."

She kisses him gently, and when he doesn't react much, she pulls away, not enjoying the reminder of the years when he couldn't feel her kisses. Which makes her think of how the Tans couldn't feel her blows and her failure to stop the beating and how long he had lain in that ditch, dying…

He takes a deep breath then lets it out slowly, and when he looks to her, his eyes are clearer. He studies her expression, reading the rejection and hurt on her face, and his brows even out in concern. "Annie?"

She shakes her head, tears forming in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks, pulling her hand into his lap.

"I don't know," she laughs. "I suppose I just feel like a failure."

"What?" he asks sharply.

"I couldn't _save_ you," she says, tears escaping as she looks at him. "Not in this life, and not in the other." She shakes her head. "God, I couldn't even save myself. My own fiancé killed me."

His brows dart together. "_What_?"

"It was… an accident. And come to think of it, if I am really so pathetic as to _die_ from a tumble down the stairs then good riddance. No wonder I'm stuck here, forever watching but never a part of anything. I have the backbone of a caterpillar. I'm nothing like you or Brigid or Danny. I don't belong here."

"How could you say those things?" he whispers.

"Because they're true," she snaps. "They're true and you know it."

"Annie," he scolds, his grip on her hand tightening. "You were at the Front."

She shakes her head. "I couldn't get hurt."

"Yes, you could. You loved me then – you could've been very badly hurt if you…"

She shakes her head, the tears still falling. "You died anyway."

"Everyone dies," he whispers. "You gave me three more years of sunsets and the wind in the wheat. Three more years with my parents. That was a gift to them, as well."

Annie sucks in a shuddering breath, her tears growing.

"All of this can't be an accident." He cups her face. "_We_ can't be an accident. Or how else could I feel the way I do for you when we'd never so much as said hello?"

She is distracted by the nearness of his lips as she sniffles. "How _do_ you feel?" she whispers, her hand trailing to his collarbone that's exposed by his shirt's scalloped neck.

He bumps his nose against hers with a wistful smile, his voice a whisper. "Liberated."

He presses his lips to hers, making them blossom with warmth as his stubble tickles her chin. She brings her other hand up to his chest, resting it on the stiff blood staining his shirt as he slips his tongue in her mouth in teasing circles. His other hand slides from her hip and up her ribs, making her flesh tingle, and if she didn't know better, she'd think she had nerves again.

The kisses are tender and patient, but the heat they are making course through her sings of restrained passion. She whimpers pleasantly when his hand slips under her sweater and shirt, resting against her ghost flesh, and in that moment, she realizes that he's answering her question with his tongue and lips and hands and…

He starts trailing kisses down her neck, pulling her onto his lap as he does so, a hand sliding up her back along her spine, making her gasp, for she can't remember the last time she felt anyone's hands on her body. Least of all like this.

Testing his intentions, she slides off one of his suspenders, then the other as he sucks at her neck. She chases away the errant thought that she's grateful he isn't a vampire in this life, or else she'd be concerned, even if what he's doing to her is making her body come alive all over. For a moment, she wonders if he didn't notice that she slid the straps off his shoulders, but then he pulls away and yanks off his own shirt, making her chuckle softly.

He guides one of her hands to his chest, laying it to rest above his heart, nuzzling her nose with his. "Touch me," he whispers, and the need in his voice momentarily shuts off her brain. "Like you did before."

She blinks, her hands each resting on a peck as she surges with pleasant tingles, having only the vaguest remembrance of what he's talking about. "Where?"

"Anywhere," he pants against her lips, sliding one of her hands forcefully across his skin. "_Everywhere_."

She hesitates, not out of lack of desire, but out of doubt as she wonders if this could really be happening. She can feel his body hardening beneath her hips and taste the lust on his breath and smell the ache for her in his pores… and it feels hyper-real.

They don't have bodies. This shouldn't be possible. And yet the heat radiating from him is calling to her deep inside. She's dead, but this is the most sensual moment of her life.

"Annie," he whimpers against her lips, his hands still pinning hers to his chest, and she can feel both his body and hers pleading for her to turn off the words in her brain. "I've let go now." He gently presses his teeth into her lower lip, sharpening her senses as what he's told her sinks in. Their connection overrides any doctrine or morals that restrained him in life. He's offering himself to her.

And after so many years of watching without being able to touch, even when he was a vampire, she is overwhelmed.

He sucks her lip between his with a surge of passion that he hopes will spread to her, and it works, for her fingers dig into the muscles of his pecks as she kisses him back, letting out a soft moan. "You have no idea what you're doing to me," she says as her skin sizzles and sings in a way it never has before.

He removes his hands from hers in response, slipping them both under her shirt and sending shivers across her waist as they grip and rub at the skin of her back as he kisses her. Her flesh is on fire beneath his touch and she craves more of it. In one swift motion, she yanks off her tank top and sweater then sucks in a surprised lungful when his lips and stubble are suddenly against her breast, adoring the pillowy flesh with kisses.

Her hands work up and down his torso, digging the heels of her palms and her fingers into his muscles, feeling the bump of each rib and the smoothness of his scars as she explores him. His fingers brush against her back as he unfastens her bra, letting the garment fall away. Her hands slide up his back as he kisses his way up her neck, her breasts bumping against his collarbone as she realizes that this is the first time she has been topless since her death.

And she feels beautiful.

Confidence blooms inside, taking over her body, and she pulls his chin up to her face and kisses him hungrily. One of her hands trails over his abdomen and she feels his flesh flinch as her fingers drag across the skin above his loins. Yet he nips at her lip encouragingly as she works at the button of his trousers as his hands slide over her backside, peeling off her leggings.

She's left panting, her hairline breaking out in sweat she doesn't need as she kicks off her leggings and boots, wondering over how yearning and alive she feels when all they've done so far is take each other's clothes off.

He pulls her to him with a strong arm, his body nearly quivering with need at the sight of her, and she has never felt more perfect. The wanton expression in his eyes, the invitation for her to do whatever she wants with him, is nearly enough in itself to bring her over the edge.

Yet still, they take their time, alternately writhing like snakes and slowing to pulse like the sea. She feels like she's on the verge of releasing her pleasure several times, but at each instance, her passion renews all the stronger until she thinks she can't take it anymore. Something is building inside, fueled by the scent of her lover's sweat and the pleasured moans he's making that undo her a little more each time one escapes.

Then he says her name in a tender plead, his lips and tongue massaging her neck, her breast cupped in his hand, and it happens. The thing building inside bursts, and instead of sending her into the pleasure of release as she expects, she feels a whole new wave of something otherworldly surging through her.

It's warm and beautiful and makes her shimmer inside with a sensation that there weren't enough joyous words to describe. Their ghost bodies continue to writhe together, but she knows her soldier feels the change as well. It's as if she is soaring and falling and being pleasured by a dozen men at the same time, and then it hits her. They are spirits. This ecstasy is their souls twining, making love, complementing the vestiges of their bodies.

All time is lost as they burn and whimper, nip and moan and laugh inside until they feel a pleasure so intense that it burns, like the exploding of a star within. All Annie can see is white, and she is drifting in the void of time and space.

_My God_, she thinks, _no wonder we couldn't ever have sex before. He fucked me into oblivion._

The sounds of the creek come back to her, along with the hooting of an owl, and with a shiver, Annie's ghost body reforms along with his. She is lying on her back, surprised to be looking at stars, for it was still morning when they wandered to this patch of forest. Lolling her head to the side, she finds that Mitchell is still slightly see through, and she worries he'll be frightened. But one glance at the drunken, unfocused look in his eyes tells her that his head and spirit are still spinning.

She laughs softly and tugs on his arm, and he has enough awareness to gather her up and pull her to him before laying his head on her chest. She runs a hand through his damp hair and kisses his sweaty brow, basking in the joyous contentment radiating from him.

They remain entwined for several minutes before he shifts to look up at the stars as well, toying with her fingers as their hands rest on her belly button. She has never felt more perfect than in this moment with her soldier nestled against her, watching the stars slowly slide across the sky with the spinning of the earth.

When dawn casts a rosy tint to the horizon, Annie finally stirs with a small stretch, and she is surprised to feel the tug of her sleeve on her arm. Looking down, she realizes that they are both once again dressed.

"Hey," she whispers to Mitchell, prompting him to lift his chin to rest on her chest so that he can peer at her, making her smile. "You could've just said 'I love you.'"

He smirks, his eyes and face glowing as he flops onto her, nearly weightless on her chest. He tucks her hair behind her ears, studying her face with the look of a scientist for several moments. She's about to ask him what he finds so fascinating when he replies, "But that wouldn't even begin to cover it."

Annie smiles up at him, wonder in her eyes, thinking that if this blissful feeling is the reward for all of the trauma she's been through, then she would go through it again in a heartbeat. "It wouldn't, would it?"

He gives her the most adoring expression she's ever seen on his face before kissing first the corner of her mouth, then her lips.

The gulls call in the distance, followed by the magpies in the forest, and with a sigh, he slides off of her and helps her up. She pulls him into an embrace, trailing her fingers through his hair to untangle his curls.

"_Mo chuid den tsaol, M'fíorghrá_," he whispers. "How can I feel this alive when I'm dead?" (_My share of life/everything, my true love._)

She shakes her head, a bemused smile on her face. "Because death isn't an end, after all. It's a beginning."

Sliding her hands into his, she gives it a squeeze then the two make their way back to the house. She can feel his tension mounting as they near, and she worries it will shatter the glowing calm they've created. They pause outside and he lets go of her hand, his eyes sliding to hers with a strength he didn't have before. He takes a deep breath then steps in through the wall, and she follows him.

The fire is ashes in the hearth and his mother is asleep in the rocking chair beside it, her careworn face stained with tears. Mitchell's expression crumples at the sight of her, but Sean fusses in his room, distracting him.

Walking in through the door, he finds Penny lying on what was his bed with Sean, trying to get the baby to nurse. Felix and Rory are piled on the straw bed that once belonged to Ms. Hannigan.

Mitchell approaches and peers down at Felix, smiling fondly at him. The blonde's face is washed and his wound is cleaned and bandaged, and both he and Rory look a fair sight better than the last he saw them.

Felix grunts in his sleep, as if in sensing his nearness, and Mitchell laughs softly, reminding Annie yet again of just how beautiful he is to her. Penny has nearly drifted back to sleep as Sean nurses, and Mitchell pulls the blankets up over her shoulders before kissing first her forehead, then the baby's.

"Johnny…" a voice calls from the other room, and before he knows it, he has popped to his mother's side. The room is dingy, the first of the morning light only just filtering in through the window, making the corners shadowy. Her eyes are still closed, and though he knows she has called out for him in her sleep, he enfolds her hand in his and kisses it.

"I'm here, Mam," he whispers. Annie slips out of his room and watches from the corner as Una sucks in a startled breath and opens her eyes. To Annie's shock, they settle upon her son with a smile.

"Johnny?"

Mitchell's face splits in a grin. "Good morning, Mam."

"_A leanbh na páirt_," she breathes, her eyes widening. She squeezes his hands in hers, tears collecting as she gazes at him, afraid to blink lest he disappear. (_My dear child_)

"I'm real," he whispers. "And I love you so much, Mam. I promised you I'd come back, didn't I?" He kisses her hand then presses it against his cheek, making her smile at the brush of his ghostly skin.

"You're so cold."

"I… I don't have a body anymore," he explains, fighting back his own tears. "But I'm always with you, even if you can't see or hear me. So please don't cry. Mam?"

She nods, her shimmering eyes full of wonder and love. "Did it hurt?" she whispers.

The tears pool in his eyes then and Annie crumples in the corner over the look on his face. "It did," he whispers. "But it's over now. I don't hurt anymore. Only at the sight of you and Da so sad."

Una's mouth trembles.

"Make a new life, without me," he pleads, his voice cracking the slightest bit. "Be happy. I'll be here, waiting for you, Mam. All right?"

She nods, tears jerking from her lids to her cheeks.

He smiles, his eyes shimmering.

"My angel," she whispers, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek, but by the time her fingers reach him, they slide through his face, and he instinctively knows that their moment is over. He is gone to her. "Johnny?" she calls, her eyes frantically searching the room. "Johnny? Johnny!"

Mitchell backs up to Annie, his shoulders shaking at the sight of his mother so distraught. Annie hugs him from behind as Malachy hurries into the room. "Una?"

"_Johnny_?"

"What is it, love?" Malachy asks, slowing at her side.

"He was here…" She whispers, looking up to him with wild eyes. "Johnny was here."

Malachy's whole body sighs. "It was just a dream, love."

"No, it wasn't Da," Mitchell scolds from the corner by Annie.

Una shakes her head, wiping at her cheeks. "He was here. He spoke to me. He told me it was real."

"He's gone, Una."

"Stop it, Da," Mitchell shouts, and Malachy stiffens, as if he felt the emotion of the ghost coursing through him.

"And the other day – just before we heard the news – Annie was acting funny, like she was playing with someone invisible."

Malachy rests a hand on his wife's shoulder, the doubt in his blue gaze cracking after having been hit by his son's ghostly shout. "Was she now?" he whispers.

"He was right here," Una says, her voice shaking. "He was right here, and he was so beautiful. My baby… he was so beautiful." She can't hold back her sobs any longer and Malachy enfolds her in a hug, his own tears spilling forth.

"He was," he agrees. "Our beautiful boy."

Mitchell shakes his head, his own tears falling. "I don't want this."

"I know," Annie whispers before kissing his shoulder. "But it can't be helped. You must allow them their grief. And you were incredibly lucky that she could see you at all. She never once saw me."

"She didn't give birth to you," he whispers softly, his voice distant. "You weren't the only baby to live out of three."

Annie rubs his back before hugging him from the side.

At length, his parents' tears die down, and Penny reluctantly peeks her head out. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "Only I can't sleep…" She tip toes out with Sean. "And truth be told, I could use a good cry."

Una smiles sadly and scoots out a chair for the young woman and she stiffly takes it. "God bless you, darling," Malachy says, resting a hand on her shoulder before fetching her a blanket and draping it over her and the baby. She shoots him a thankful smile.

"The thing is," Penny begins, her voice cracking even as she tries to control it. "I have a secret."

Una fixes her with a kind gaze. "I never had any parents of my own so I don't know quite how to say it… but here it is. And you're the first to hear it, but I'm with child again. I didn't dare tell my husband till I was certain I could keep it amidst all the… well. It's been four months now. And with your permission, I'd like to call him John Daniel, if he's a boy, after your son and my brother-in-law. Johanna Danielle, if it's a girl. But I understand if you don't want a near-stranger's baby walking around with your boy's name. Only he sacrificed himself for us, and I figured it was the least I could do to remember him."

Una and Malachy exchange a tender look at the request, and Penny wipes at her tears, seeming to worry that they'll be offended.

"Penny," Malachy says in his gravelly voice. "We'd be honored, lass. Absolutely honored. Under one condition."

She nods, sniffling.

"You stay here for as long as you need. It's what our boy would've wanted. And it's what we want."

Penny breaks into a grateful smile that's tinged with sadness.

Annie grins up at Mitchell, happy to see that his tears have faded. "You've done well, _a stór."_

He wraps an arm around her shoulders with a soft sigh.

Sean awakens in his mother's arms and greets Una and Malachy with a shy smile. After a while, Penny hands him over first to Una, then to Malachy, and they coo and laugh at him like the grandparents they were meant to be.

The sight of them so happy with the grinning baby makes a wistful smile grace Mitchell's face, and he almost doesn't notice the light glow behind him. Annie pivots, spying double doors in the wall, and everything in her stops.

Mitchell follows her gaze and is startled. "Where'd they come from?"

"The other side," she whispers, letting go of him. "That must've been your unfinished business." She looks back over her shoulder at his parents with Sean and she smiles. "You gave them both a new family."

Mitchell sucks in a lungful of air, his eyes latching onto his loved ones. "I have to leave now?"

She slides her hand up his arm and squeezes his shoulder. "No. You don't have to do anything. But this may be the only chance we have."

"We?"

She smiles. "Two doors. I'll be there with you."

The fear eases off his face at that and she kisses him. "What will become of us there?" he asks.

"I don't know. I suppose we'll find out."

He looks from his parents to the doors, and she can see in his eyes that they are humming to him with rightness as much as they are to her, the sensation getting stronger with each moment. He nods, his eyes green in their white glow.

Crossing over to his parents, he smiles at their expressions of wonder as they play with the baby. He leans over and kisses first his mother's cheek, then his father's, and Malachy stiffens and glances over his shoulder, as if feeling it.

Once back at Annie's side, he slides his hand into hers with a deep breath. His eyes are bittersweet as they slide from his family to her. "All right," he whispers. "I'm ready."

Annie casts one last glance at the family as the Kitten Annie wakes up and fixes her with a sleepy, regal stare. Sticking her tongue out at the cat one last time, she tugs on Mitchell's hand and they step through their doors.

Neither know that at that very moment, Felix is awake and re-reading Mitchell's note that he scribbled on an envelope from the wastebasket. He turns it over in his hands, furrowing his brow when he notices that the date of the postmark is two days after Mitchell's death. Then the lines on his brow smooth and he smiles. "You tricky bastard," he chuckles, shaking his head at the inexplicable wonders of the universe, his chuckle growing into a laugh.

* * *

_**Please share your thoughts!**_

_**My sister has also made some more photo edits that are up on my tumblr under blackhawkwriter :)**_


	37. Being Human

_**UPDATE:**_

**_My debut novel is now available on Amazon as an e-book! Look for _****Darkling_ by K.M. Rice. If you don't have a Kindle, don't worry – there are many free apps that allow you to read a Kindle book on any device!_**

_**Our soldier's journey comes to an end with this final chapter that just happens to be my favorite!  
**_

**Annie's Soldier**

**37. Being Human**

Annie and Mitchell have stepped into the familiar grey hallways of purgatory. "Where are we?" he whispers.

She sighs, having hoped for something more conclusive this time.

The light from their doors has only just dimmed when Mitchell's hand clenches in hers, followed by a gasp. "Johnny?"

He lets go of her hand, grabbing at his own head, his face screwed up in pain as he falls to his knees, screaming.

"Johnny!"

"Annie."

She spins around to see George smiling wistfully at her, stepping out of one of the doors lining the hallway.

"George!" she gasps. Mitchell screams beside her again, crumpling onto the floor. "George – what's wrong with him?"

"It's all right, Annie."

Mitchell shrieks, contorting in agony.

"No, it bloody well _isn't_!"

"_Annie_," Mitchell pleads through his screams. "Annie, _help_ _me_, please."

She hesitates, because the voice that just spoke sounded far more like one whose native accent had been tempered by years of living in England, and not at all like her soldier.

"Mitchell?" she whispers.

He chokes out another scream, writhing on the ground, his hands clutched to his head.

"Give him some space, Annie," George says calmly, resting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her over to him. "It'll be fine."

"He's in _pain_."

Mitchell's screams suddenly stop and she looks down to find him shaking and panting on the floor. His bloodstained shirt is now partially obscured by a familiar leather jacket, his hands adorned with fingerless gloves. She holds a hand to her mouth, the articles of clothing mixed with the clothes he died in overwhelming her.

"Johnny?" she softly calls. "Mitchell?"

He doesn't answer, curling instead into a fetal position, hugging his head.

"Annie," George continues softly, drawing her attention back to him. "When a person becomes a vampire, their soul is split in two."

"What do you mean?" she asks, unshed tears bejeweling her eyes.

"A fraction of the soul lives on in the vampire. As time goes on, the curse diminishes that scrap of identity. It's why he struggled so much against his nature when I knew him. There was still a piece of him alive inside."

Annie glances down to Mitchell's back as it shakes on the floor then up to George, her face apprehensive. "And the other part?"

"It lives on in an… alternate reality, you could say. Because the moment something as life-altering as a vampire attack happens to someone, their reality is split into two along with their souls. One continues along the vampire path, the other upon the human path. It is only after the death of each that they are reunited here. As one being."

Annie shakes her head. "I don't understand. How could I have been in both? I was born in 1986, not 1886."

George fixes her with one of those patient smiles. "That's because you're thinking of time like a numbers on a ruler."

"How else am I supposed to think about it?"

"Try not thinking about it at all. You see…" He steps over to Mitchell's crumpled form. "Time is a convention of a caged mind. It doesn't exist. Or rather, it exists all at once." He latches onto Mitchell's arm and helps him to his feet. "Everything that ever was and everything that ever will be all in the same second."

Mitchell looks as confused as Annie feels.

"We are _beings_, Annie," George continues, "With grossly limited senses. We're only capable of existing in one time and place because that's all we can process. You, however, are slightly more complicated. Or rather, your love bonded you to him so powerfully, that you were also attached in his alternate, human life."

Mitchell's head lolls against him, as if he's drugged or drunk, and George fixes him with a confused look.

"Never could tell why, though. I mean, look at him." He shakes Mitchell's floppy frame for emphasis and Annie scowls, marching over and grabbing ahold of him herself with a defiant glare.

"So what are you saying? I wasn't really sent back to protect him?"

"No, no, that would imply that there's some scheme, some grand _plan_ behind all this. In reality, _we_ make the plan. You did that on your own. Your spirit traveled across our perception of time to be with his once more, even if that meant going into the past from your perspective. But it was your choice to protect him. Your power that kept him safe. Your _love_." George smiles.

"Annie?" Mitchell whispers, steadier on his feet.

"I'm right here, sweetheart." She wraps her arms around him in a hug, peering at George over his shoulder. "Then why couldn't I stop him from dying?"

"Because he already was."

She furrows her brow.

"Even if the beating had never happened, he would've had a heart attack. There wasn't enough blood in his body to keep going like he was. And he wasn't going to stop. It would have happened sooner or later."

Annie squeezes Mitchell all the tighter at the memory of just how weak he looked at the ambush and the paleness that clung to him from then on. Cigarettes and leather are tainting the scent of wool and rain that she knows as her soldier, and she feels as if she's holding two men in her arms. "So it was just his time then?"

"Yeah," George says sadly, nodding. "Flames that burn so brightly rarely burn long."

Mitchell tightens his arms around her and she cradles his head.

"The blood," he murmurs against her neck, startling her, and she lets go of him as he pulls away and faces George. "In both lives… I died for want of blood."

"Ironic, isn't it?" George asks.

"Johnny?" Annie says, squeezing his arm. "Is it still you?"

"Yes," Mitchell answers, smiling at her with her soldier's soft expression before hardening into the tortured look of the man she had once known. "And no."

"This isn't fair," Annie snaps at George. "Can't you _fix_ him?"

"He _is_ fixed."

"He has split personalities!"

"It's the nature of the beast," George says with a small sigh. "His soul still needs time to mend. To heal around the broken, bloodied part that was taken by the vampire."

"I can see their faces," Mitchell moans, covering his eyes, and Annie can do nothing but stare as the hopeful young man she holds so much love for dissolves into the tortured being she always feared he'd become. "I can taste their deaths." He falls to his knees. "God, I'm a monster, Annie." He looks up at her with her soldier's eyes, betrayed and frightened. "What have you done to me? What have _I_ done?"

She shakes her head, tears escaping. "If I knew this would happen, I would've told you to stay."

"Take them away," he pleads, latching onto her hand and pressing his forehead to her knuckles. "Please? I can't bear their faces." He lets go to latch onto his hair, scolding himself. "_Ní mórán thú! Go stróice an diabhal thú, bastún_!" (_You're worthless! May the devil tear you, bastard_!)

"_George_?" Annie pleads but he shakes his head helplessly. "No," she says. "_No_, you don't get to just stand there. You don't get to _rip_ him away from me and condemn him to this _torture_ and then just _stand_ there!"

"Annie…" George says quietly.

"No, screw you, George! And your maniac of a great-grandfather, while we're at it. The bastard _shot_ him!"

"I know."

"No, you don't know. You don't know because you weren't _there_. You weren't there while his blood was spilling out all over the floor. While he was _moaning_ every waking minute because there was no painkiller. When his family lost everything, _everything_ because of our God-damned national arrogance. I mean who in their right mind could do something like that to other human beings?" She sucks in a shuddering breath, tears streaming down her face. "Who could kick and hit and break the most precious thing in the world to me until he's _dead_? I have fought _so_ _hard_ for him, for _us_. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you or anyone else in this whole fucking _universe_ take him away from me again!"

George's eyes are fixed on something over her shoulder and she narrows her eyes.

"What?" she barks, then turns around to follow his gaze.

The hallway behind them is gone, replaced by green hills and distant buildings. Sunshine and people, hundreds of people, going about their lives.

She looks back at George in question, only to find the other half of the hallway has turned into a flickering train car, populated by the bloodied faces of all of Mitchell's victims, including the first soldier he ever bit. Lia shoves her way to the front of the crowd and fixes Annie with her mournful gaze.

"How…?" Annie starts, but the question dies on her lips when she hunts out Mitchell and finds him standing stock-still in the dead center of the two scenes. "George?" Annie calls. When he doesn't answer, she whips her head around to look for him but he's gone.

"Look what you've done," Lia gripes, folding her arms over her chest. "Look what you've destroyed."

Mitchell shakes his head helplessly, his eyes lost.

"Look what you've done," Lia repeats, only this time her voice is coming from the other side.

Mitchell and Annie turn their gazes to the green land and find an alternate, older Lia smiling as she picks up a toddler that scampers to her side.

"Look what you've created," she says with a grin.

"Annie?" he calls, his voice laced with the same confusion she feels. Annie crosses over and hugs his arm, peering back at the angry Lia with whom she is far too familiar.

"Look what you've done," the sour voice calls again.

"Where do I go?" Mitchell whispers.

"Look what you've done," the happy Lia on the other side says, grinning.

"Where do you _want_ to go?" Annie asks.

Mitchell's eyes shy away from the bloodied faces and latch onto the happy Lia as she bounces a laughing toddler on her hip. Without a second though, he steps over to her, shrugging off his leather jacket and dropping it in the shadows between both worlds. Annie follows, and when she glances over her shoulder at the angry Lia, she is already fading into the darkness.

"I've been waiting for you," the happy Lia gushes. Another child dashes over and tugs on her summer dress. "Just a minute, darling, mummy's talking." The child scampers off to play with several others.

"I don't understand," Mitchell whispers.

"I know that, silly," Lia says. "That's why I'm here. Come on then." She takes a step forward with the blonde baby in her arms then looks back at Annie. "You too, love."

Annie doesn't quite feel like smiling at her yet, even if she is somehow different than the girl who toyed with her and Mitchell like pawns. Holding her soldier's hand, she steps with him onto the grass, following Lia and her toddler.

"The place is a bit chaotic, isn't it?" Lia chirps. "That's because there are lots more people over here than on the other end."

Mitchell looks over his shoulder but all he can see of the train car is black shadows.

"In fact, there are even some from over there who've come to over here."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Well, you know, people you helped in your vampire life. There aren't as many of them as there are folks from your time as a farm boy, though. Go figure." She winks at him and he shoots Annie an unsure look which she returns.

The further they walk into the green expanse, the broader the horizon and the more people they can see.

"Oh, here," Lia says, waving someone down. "Come on over, love."

A brunette in an Edwardian dress trots over with a goofy, toothy grin. "Hi Johnny," she says shyly.

"You remember Agnes, don't you? The girl who cut your hair and made your cry?" Lia asks.

Mitchell nods. "Of course."

"I did it because I liked your face," Agnes confesses, biting her thumb. "And you once told me I looked pretty in my frock. I wore it as often as I could after that. It became lucky for me. Built my confidence, so to speak, despite my teeth sticking out even when my mouth was shut." She giggles. "Anyway, cheers." She scampers off and Mitchell has sucked his chin in with confusion.

Lia wrinkles her nose. "I thought you might not remember paying her that compliment, but Lord knows, she sure did. Having the fella she was sweet on say such a thing to her made her feel special enough to stand up against her dad who was paying her nightly visits. She called the police on him and went to live with her aunt."

"Jesus, I had no idea," Mitchell gasps.

"That's the point," Lia says patiently. "One never knows what a simple act of kindness will cause. Oh, here we go!" Lia flags down a trio that Annie recognizes. It's the Belgian farm woman and her daughter and son, Andre. "Them you must remember – you saved their lives."

Mitchell nods and smiles as the two kids peer at him curiously, their mother smiling.

"They've grown up since then, of course, but everyone here is in a shape that will make it easier for you to recognize," Lia explains. "You risked your life for them. You saved their mother from a brutal double rape that would've led her into a depression for months before she offed herself. And her kids – the girl there – that's Camile – she would've had to become a prostitute to support her brother's care. Little Andre's brain was damaged by the smoke inhalation, you see. Nothing you could've done would've helped that." Lia shifts the toddler to her other hip. "But Camile here, she took care of her baby brother and his special needs and founded the first ever school in Belguim for special needs students."

Lia fixes him with a grin as the worry in his eyes is replaced by wonder.

"All those kids there behind her are ones she helped. And she based all her curriculum around her observations of how her brother's mind worked. All because you saved their lives. Bet you didn't expect those ripples, did you?"

He shakes his head in surprise, his eyes traveling over the dozens of special needs children playing behind the family. Annie squeezes his hand, flooded with pride as Lia continues.

They approach a bombed out church where a group of children are playing football. "I remember this," Annie says. "You went and played with them when your watch was done."

"I did."

"You were the only soldier who actually treated them as kids," Lia explains, "and not as foreigners. They remembered you most of their lives, every one of them. Especially when the Germans invaded in WWII. Each opened up their homes to the Allies, and one even found a wounded American paratrooper and kept him hidden in her barn. They fell in love and had all those kids over there." She points out a group of five playing tag. "They were brave like that because you'd set the example. They knew that the British soldiers were good people who were there to help."

"How could one football game have done all that?" he asks.

"It was more than a football game to them," Lia says. "It was playing with one of their liberating heroes."

He shakes his head to protest but Lia rolls her eyes and keeps walking.

"Johnny," Annie says, recognizing a familiar soldier as he sits on a rock wall beside the church, scribbling like mad. "Isn't that Shorty?"

"James Frances O'Sullivan," Lia announces, pausing by the rock wall. "What on earth are you working on now?"

Shorty looks up and grins when he spots Mitchell, greeting him in Irish. Mitchell chuckles and lets go of Annie's hand to embrace his friend.

"Funny thing is," Lia says to Annie. "Had your soldier here never befriended Shorty, then he wouldn't have been in that truck that blew up to begin with."

"Isn't that a bad thing?" Annie asks as the two soldiers pull apart and listen.

"On the contrary," Lia says, adjusting her grip on her son. "He would've returned home with severe shell shock, then in a night of hysteria during the Revolution, killed his parents and his sister, then headed to the church and offed the priest who molested him before taking out some of the altar boys, as well, thinking he was protecting them from the pervert." She shakes her head sadly.

Annie fixes Shorty with as shocked expression and he shrugs before exchanging a few more words with Mitchell in Irish then waving them on.

"There's another man you killed that spared hundreds of victims, including yourself," Lia says, pointing out Herrick who stands leaning against the wall of a house in his Black and Tan uniform, his eyes narrowed as he smokes. "But now that you've got your memories from that life, as well, I don't need to go into the details."

"No," Mitchell says softly. "You don't."

"Johnny?" a woman says in surprise, and they turn around to see Brigid looking at him with a grin. Her hair is curled and her lipstick is red, looking like a celebration of 1940s fashion. "I've been wondering if I'd see you here."

"Brigid!" He jogs over to her and yanks her into a hug, making her laugh. "I was worried about you."

"You needn't be," she says, pulling away. "I see you've met my great-granddaughter."

Mitchell furrows his brows and both he and Annie turn their gazes to Lia.

"_Surprise_," Lia says with a cheesy shrug.

"But…" Mitchell starts. "I thought…"

"Johnny, I moved to New York City," Bridget gushes. "Just like you said. I worked at a speakeasy and once served Al Capone. And I traveled, Johnny. How I traveled! I saw California and France and even went on a safari in Kenya. That's where I met Albert." Mitchell looks to his side as a man approaches and drapes an arm around Brigid before kissing her cheek. "We fell madly in love and moved to a flat in London."

Mitchell grins. "Did you now?"

"Johnny, if I had never known you, then I never would've known what _real_ love felt like. I had to know what _almost_ love was before I could know the difference. Do you understand?"

He nods, looking to Annie with a wistful smile. "More than ever."

"I never forgot you, Johnny. Or what you did for us. All of us. I cried so many tears for you, my brave lad." She cups his cheek.

"She named a pub after you," Albert adds. "Hoppin' John's."

Mitchell chuckles, groaning a little as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Then around forty, I got the surprise of my life when I found out my weight gain was actually a baby," Brigid continues. "I never had wanted one before but… I'd done a lot of living at that point. And made a lot of mistakes. So we had our son, Declan. Then he had Mary, and Mary had Lia." She smiles affectionately at her great-granddaughter.

"Oh!" Lia says. "And you obviously were never a vampire so I never died. _Yay_." She holds up her toddler. "This is number two! Number one is off somewhere and three hasn't formed yet, at least not in this shape I picked. I lived to be in my nineties, though. Never thought I'd have three kids, but what can you do? I got a job as a social worker. So everyone I helped, you helped, because without you, I'd never be here. Or at least, this version of me wouldn't!" She chuckles. "I mean, I still existed in the other life, _obviously_, but I arrived under much different family circumstances. I was so angry there, wasn't I?"

Mitchell studies her and her happy toddler in silence so Annie pipes up. "Um, sorry, but yes, _yes_ you were."

"Sorry about all that," Lia quips then grins at something in the distance. "Ah, here we go."

Mitchell and Annie follow her gaze to see the charred out rubble of Cork being rebuilt, the Irish flag flying.

"Now this is where the thousands come in, and even _I_ won't be able to walk you through them."

"Who are they?" Mitchell asks, observing the people going about their daily lives on a peaceful street.

"Ireland."

Annie slips her hand in his as they watch, the sight of the prosperous city healing to their souls.

"The Kilmichael Ambush was a turning point in the war," Lia explains softly. "The moment England realized that this wasn't going to be like all the other rebellions they were able to squash. A year after your death, a treaty was signed. Your country was free."

Mitchell's eyes darken slightly as his combined memories come to bear. "But not all of it."

"No," Lia agree softly. "Six counties in the north still belong to the crown." She sighs. "But it's a small succession to be made in the face of what was accomplished. You were a part of that. You helped your generation achieve what had been attempted for _hundreds_ of years. You changed countless lives for the better."

Mitchell lets out a shaking breath then looks to Annie, his eyes overwhelmed. She rubs his lower back and he peels off the fingerless gloves before hugging her. When they part, they are standing in the main room of the Mitchell farmhouse.

Lia weaves her way through Malachy and Una, Penny, Felix, Sean and a child they have never met.

"Though most importantly," Lia says, pausing in the midst of them all. "You gave your family courage. You died for something you believed in, rather than cannon fodder in a war where everyone was trying to show off their bigger guns. I mean, really? _Men_!" She shakes her head, making Annie smirk slightly. "Felix and his family stayed here for several years until Cork was safe again. But even so, they didn't want to leave. Una and Malachy were the parents Penny never had, and were grandparents to Sean and Johnny Daniel."

She smiles as a little one darts past, blonde curls bouncing.

"Watch out for that one," Lia teases. "He's a ladykiller. Have you seen those blue eyes?"

Annie chuckles, hugging Mitchell's arm as he watches the toddler with wonder in his eyes. Una catches him up and showers him with kisses.

"Eventually, of course, they moved out," Lia says sadly. "To the barn," she adds with a laugh. "Felix worked on it for years. The world was changing, you see, and your parents didn't think they'd have much future in the dairy industry anymore. So he converted the barn to a house and they got along as pretty as you please. Your parents even had someone to care for them in their old age."

"But," Mitchell says. "I love the cows."

Lia shrugs. "Felix opened a business in town – a shop that specialized in mail-order items. He did very well for himself. Penny went to school when the children were older then started teaching herself."

"And Rory?" Mitchell asks.

Lia's expression dims a little. "Rory fought in the civil war on the Republican side. He felt that giving up the six counties went against everything you and Danny had died for."

"So he died, as well?" Annie asks sadly.

"Oh, not at all," Lia says. "I mean, yes, _eventually_. But after a long career as a model."

Mitchell squawks. "A _what_?"

Lia laughs. "Papers started having ads with pictures in them. He sold all kinds of suits and looked pretty dashing while he did so, if you ask me." She winks.

Mitchell's gaze shifts from hers to slide over his loved ones, so happy and complete despite the damage done by his loss and by war. Annie sighs, resting her cheek on his shoulder, drinking in the scene, as well, as Lia makes her way behind them.

"There's just one more thing," she says. They turn to look at her, surprised to find her without her toddler and back in the halls of purgatory. "You've forgotten someone."

"Who?" Annie asks.

Lia raises her brows as she locks eyes with Annie. "_Yourself_, silly ghost."

Annie furrows her brows as Mitchell's hand tightens in hers.

"You were there with him every step of the way," Lia explains. "You're just as responsible for all of this wonderful creation." She grins, stepping up to Annie and resting a hand on her shoulder. "Did you think we didn't notice?"

Annie tucks her chin in, looking from Lia to Mitchell, finding a loving smile on his face. "It's true," he whispers.

"So here's the thing," Lia continues, and Annie braces herself for whatever test she's about to throw at them. "There's no undoing or cancelling out a murder." She fixes her eyes on Mitchell. "But there is such a thing as living in the realities that make our souls the strongest. For instance, I have chosen the world where I _didn't_ die in a train car."

"But if you lived both… how can you _choose_?" Mitchell asks.

"Didn't you pay any attention to what George said?" Lia asks. "Time doesn't exist – everything is happening simultaneously, it's just us who have to process it separately, making it _seem_ like events or lives are happening at different times. It's the slowness of our brains, not the reality of the universe."

"So you are here," Annie ventures, "but you are also the girl on the train and the girl who had children?"

"Exactly," Lia says with a little swish of her skirt. "We're all time travelers, anyway. The speed of light is faster than the speed of sound, so when you see something make a noise it takes a while for the sound to catch up, but instead, your brain halts the image until it receives the sound, presenting it to your senses as a simultaneous occurrence."

Mitchell and Annie just blink.

"One soul existing in multiple parallel universes is no different," Lia says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Annie narrows her eyes, trying to process Lia's example while Mitchell looks as if he's given up already, making Lia roll her eyes.

"Each separate life is _true_," a male voice says from the side as George returns. "Each _experience_ in the separate universes is true. But it's possible, at the end of a journey like yours, to mesh them all together, creating an infinite number of lives to live, but only really one life. The life in which your soul thrives the most."

"Listen, I know English isn't my first language," Mitchell says. "But I've been speaking it for over a hundred years now, and this still isn't clicking."

"Annie?" George asks hopefully, his brows raised.

She shakes her head apologetically.

George smirks. "No matter. You'll understand soon enough."

"Lia?" Mitchell asks, peering about, but she's gone.

"How does she _do_ that?" Annie asks, peering about for her as well, and then frowning when she realizes that George has once again disappeared and they're alone. "This… this only makes a _modicum_ of sense to me."

"That's more than it makes to me."

Annie smirks up at him and her smile infects him, teasing out his own. He bumps his nose against hers.

"I'm glad my parents didn't waste away," he whispers.

"Me, too." She kisses him then closes her eyes as he kisses her back, and his lips are tender and soft and then they're gone. _Gone_?

She tries to open her eyes but she can't, it's like they're stuck or like she never had them at all, and just when she's about to scream, they snap open.

Annie pants, looking around at her bright surroundings with wonder, for she is lying on her side in a bed, facing a wall that is just the right hint of yellow to be cheerful. Birdsong echoes in through a cracked window. Furrowing her brows, she cranes her neck and spots a vase filled with wildflowers on her nightstand, scenting the air of the sun-drenched room with complicated sweetness.

_How… where?_

A warm weight is draped over her hips, which she realizes are naked, and she rolls over to find Mitchell fast asleep, his arm protectively around her.

Annie grins, studying the rise and fall of his sun-kissed chest for some time before realizing that she can feel his breath in her hair, the sheets on her skin, the warmth from his body. Her hand flies to her neck where she finds the steady rhythm of a pulse.

_Alive_, she thinks with a rush of excitement.

Scooting closer to Mitchell, she rests her head on his chest, closing her eyes with delight at the steady beating of his heart.

_More than alive. Human._

He stirs, sucking in a long breath, his arms tightening around her as he wakes up. "Annie?" he croaks.

She sits up, an arm resting on his chest as she peers into his sleepy face. He smiles when he sees her and she runs her fingers through his chest hair in a happy tickle, making his smile grow. Then he furrows his brow and lifts his head slightly, looking around at the room.

"Where are we?"

"I don't know," she says. "But it feels like… _home_."

He sits up, cradling her back as he shifts her with him. "Where'd George go?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think we're in purgatory anymore."

But he isn't listening, for his eyes alight with wonder as he takes in what his senses are telling him, then yanks her over and presses his ear to her left breast, his stubble tickling her skin and making her laugh.

"Are we…?" he asks, too afraid to finish the sentence.

She cups his face and lifts it up to hers with a grin. "Human."

He lets out a happy sound that she cuts off with her lips against his.

They both squawk when there's a brief knock on the door before it swings open and George walks in, bearing a pan of sausages.

"I couldn't remember if you liked them extra dark or – _Oh my God_!" He shields his eyes with his spatula as Mitchell yanks Annie under him to hide her nakedness. "_Wow_." George blinks several times. "I will definitely remember to _wait_ for an answer next time. Don't mind me. Just a lowly biology student invited for the summer to study cattle – _oh_ – and my best friend's insatiable sex drive, apparently."

"George," Mitchell says with a gleeful laugh that is completely out of place.

George shoots him a funny look at that, sneering slightly, as if worried Mitchell will ask him to join them, then pivots to try to bustle out of the room and instead hits the wall before getting it right and making his exit.

Mitchell immediately scrambles to try to follow him but Annie smacks his naked ass. He turns around to find her dangling a pair of boxers. "Found these between my feet."

"Thanks, love," he says, giving her a quick kiss as he scrambles into them before chasing George into the kitchen where she can hear the bespectacled man's voice hitch in a squeaky, "Get away from _me_ – I don't want your sex germs!"

Annie laughs, luxuriating in the bed for a few moments, nuzzling against the pillow that smells like her lover. "Is this real?" she whispers to the room.

"Annie!" Mitchell shouts happily from the other room then she hears his footsteps as he dashes over. "Annie, George is making breakfast!" he sounds like a delighted child. He starts to stick his head back in then tucks it away and all she sees is a black flash. "Sorry – are you decent?"

"Am I _decent_?" she asks with an incredulous laugh after having woken up starkers with him in a bed. But the small give away makes her grin inside, for even though he remembers and loves George as Mitchell does from their Bristol life, she knows she has her Johnny back. "Get over here."

He pads back in and crawls onto the bed, snuggling up to her side with his head on her chest.

"Are you decent?" she asks, mimicking his Kerry lilt. "We've only had cosmic sex – _literally_ – and you ask if I'm _decent_?"

"I really didn't need to hear that," George mutters from the other room, making Mitchell giggle.

"I only meant did you have any clothes on yet," Mitchell explains around his smile as she starts playing with his hair.

"I'm teasing." She leans down and kisses him upside-down.

"Johnny," George calls from the hall, clearly too afraid to come back into the room. "Sorry, but, you're out of milk."

"Milk…" Mitchell whispers, his eyes growing distant as his ears key in on a noise coming from outside. He crawls across Annie and peers out the window, laughing triumphantly.

"What?" Annie shoves at him as she sits up, then remembers that she's naked and yanks on a shirt and underwear she finds on the floor. She peers out with him then grins when she sees a paddock filled with cattle eating their breakfast. "Who fed them?"

Mitchell locks eyes with her then starts to run back out of the room, only to remember his own indecency. He snatches up a pair of jeans off the floor then does a double-take, the 1920 part of his brain wondering at what they are while the 2010 side answers.

"You are so adorable when you're confused," she says, sauntering past and trailing her fingers across his lower abdomen, completely diverting him from the pants.

"And you're adorable all of the time," he replies with a devious smile.

"Oh?" She throws him a smile over her shoulder before opening up the bureau, taking in the collection of clothing that looks like the perfect blend of Edwardian and modern.

A pair of hands slide over her bare hips and up her stomach, distracting her nearly as much as the brush of stubble on her neck a Mitchell presses up against her back, kissing her. She leans into his lips, covering his hands with hers. Then she spins around, her hands sliding up his chest as she kisses his lips, delighting in every brush of their mortal bodies against each other.

"Really," she says between kisses. "We'll never find out at this rate."

"Have you got any onions?" George calls from the kitchen.

Mitchell laughs against her mouth. "George is in _our_ kitchen, looking for _onions_. Isn't this _great_?"

Annie giggles, scrunching up her face before snapping the elastic of his boxers and returning her attention to her wardrobe, snagging a summer dress and sweater, filled with the simple joy of being able to change her clothing.

Mitchell yanks on his jeans then scrounges up a cream-colored Henley that looks rather like what he wore on his farm, and Annie muses over how little some fashion has changed.

"No on the onions then," George mutters in the other room.

"Come on," Mitchell says, tugging on her hand before she has a chance to finish adjusting the bodice of the floral dress around her. Once she's ready, she squeezes his hand and they step out into the other room to find the most charming kitchen Annie has ever seen. It isn't very big, nor does it have much, but it's perfect.

There is a large dining table in the center, by a fireplace, and a counter lines one wall with a stove and a sink and… it's rustic yet clean and cozy. And smells of burnt sausage.

"_George_," Annie coos, crossing over to him and hugging him from behind. "Look at you."

"I know, I know," he stutters. "I couldn't cook when we were flatmates in Bristol and I can't now. But if you hadn't _absconded_ with this mad Irishman then I wouldn't have had to get a new deadbeat roommate which means I wouldn't have been _kicked_ _out_ for not affording the rent which means I could've done my _original_ plan for a paper on the habits of English _house_flies."

Mitchell lets out a loud, happy squawk, making them both turn to look at him. "He called me a mad Irishman," he announces with an open-mouthed grin, making Annie crinkle her nose.

"Well, what else am I supposed to call you when you met Annie walking down the hall at uni, followed her to class, then proceeded to _lie_ and claim you were _in_ said class when you actually didn't even go to uni, which of course caused a whole lot of clerical work when you kept showing up and – you know what? If that isn't _mad_ then I don't know what is!"

"So that's how we met, huh?" Annie asks with a smirk, ignoring her lover's mad laughter behind her.

"What? Are you gonna change the story now?" George asks.

"Not at all." She kisses George's cheek then bounds back over to Mitchell who kisses her as he catches her.

"Didn't even go to uni," he laughs against her lips.

"Silence, you vagrant ruffian." She kisses him back.

"Not in here, please," George announces, brandishing his spatula. "I'd like for my breakfast to be _sanitary_, thank you."

"We're going to check on the cows," Mitchell says, finding a pair of Wellies at the door and yanking them on. Annie finds a smaller pair and follows suit.

"Is that what they call it these days?" George mutters under his breath.

Mitchell and Annie ignore him as they start out the door into the sunlight. Sunlight!

"Do you _feel_ this?" Annie asks with a laugh, and he holds out his arms and throws back his head, soaking it in. "Oh I could lie in it for hours!"

"Just so long as you're lying with me, love," he says as he catches up her hand and twirls her, making her dress and curls fan out until he catches her back in his embrace, kissing her temple.

"Johnny!" a gruff voice calls, and Mitchell freezes, his smile fading in shock as he stiffens. Relaxing his hold on Annie, he turns around and spots Malachy stomping over, Kitten Annie weaving dangerously between his boots. "We need to talk!"

"_Da_?" Mitchell says breathlessly.

"Oh, don't give me that innocent stare. That only works on your mother," Malachy gripes, closing the gap between them before launching into a tirade in Irish.

Mitchell watches him in shock the whole time before cutting him off with an incredulous laugh. "The _cat_? You're upset over the cat?"

Annie looks between them with amusement, having only been able to pick out bits and pieces of what was being said.

"When you sleep with the window open she slinks right out of your place and into mine," Malachy grumbles, gesturing to a house a stone's throw away. Annie and Mitchell blink in surprise when they realize it's a renovated version of the old farmhouse.

"You live there…" Mitchell gasps.

Malachy fixes him with a suspicious gaze. "What's gotten into you?"

"And you're mad about the feckin' _cat_!" Mitchell crows before yanking him into a hug. "Not Tans and Auxies and –"

"Christ, what're you on about, son?"

Mitchell leans back and grabs his father's bearded face. "I love you, Da. I know we haven't always gotten along, but I love you with all my heart."

Malachy blinks in surprise as his son kisses his cheek then hugs him again. "You, too, lad. You too."

"_Oh_!" Annie shouts. "Where's Una?"

"Da, you remember Annie?" Mitchell says, finally releasing the older man.

"She's only lived here for three months." He fixes Annie with a curious stare. "You've bewitched him, haven't you?"

Annie merely quirks a brow with a coy smile before dashing off with Mitchell after he scoops up his fat grey cat. They thunder into the old farmhouse, making Una gasp in surprise.

"You lot sound like a herd of elephants!"

He actually throws the cat and Annie has to lunge to catch it as he dashes to his mother, nearly tackling her in a hug. Kitten Annie looks most indignant, even if she doesn't seem so sure over how she just ended up in the air and then in Annie's arms. Annie sticks her tongue out at the feline who flattens her ears.

"Good morning to you, too," Una laughs, hugging him back. She pulls away and crosses to Annie after she sets the cat down then hugs her as well, kissing her cheek. "How're you darling?"

"Wonderful," Annie gushes.

"Look at you," Una says, rubbing her arm. "Love suits you well."

Annie smiles, gratitude and affection brimming over being seen by her at long last.

When Una turns to face her son, he's wandering around the room, his fingers trailing on the mantelpiece as he remembers his old life. "Is that bacon I smell in Yonder House?" Una asks of their home.

"Sausage," he whispers, pushing the rocking chair by the fire so that it creaks back and forth. When he meets her gaze, she's startled by the unshed tears in his eyes. "_A stór_, what's troubling you?"

He shakes his head. "I just… I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

Una lets out an incredulous laugh. "Well there's a nightmare, make no mistake. Guess the roast I served last night was _that_ unmemorable."

"Never, Mam," he says, his voice cracking, and the broken look on his face is making Annie want to hold him and never let him go, but she lets his mother do the job.

Una smiles at him sadly then holds her arms out and he bows his head, falling into her embrace. She rubs his back, murmuring in Irish that whatever it was is gone now, and Annie smiles in surprise, for she understands the words.

"It was a nightmare," Mitchell mutters into her shoulder. "I'd been sent off to war and was turned into a vampire and had to pretend I was dead and never see you again, even though I could have."

"How frightening," Una soothes then pulls away to look him in the eye. "How many times do I tell you not to watch TV before bed? It's given you bad dreams since you were a boy."

Mitchell smiles sheepishly, wiping at his cheeks. "That wasn't the tele, Mam, that was Da's stories of the Púca coming to the fields," he says, then shoots Annie a surprised look at the first memory forming in his mind from this new life.

"That's the Mitchell men," Una says to Annie. "All bravado on the outside and mush on the inside."

Annie smiles at Mitchell as he crosses over to her. "I wouldn't have him any other way."

He kisses the tip of her nose then hugs her.

A high-pitched wail comes from Yonder House and Una furrows her brow. "Is that your George?"

"Must be," Mitchell says, starting for the door with Annie, only to pause and look back at his mother over his shoulder. "You'll be here when I come back?"

Una laughs. "Of course. It's Saturday."

Mitchell shoots her another bashful smile before they stride out into the yard. Two geese walk by, following Malachy and Kitten Annie into the barn, and Annie and Mitchell watch them waddle past with surprise. "Well that's new," Annie observes.

"I hear they make good guard dogs," Mitchell offers.

"_Johnnnny_!" a high-pitched voice desperately wails from their house. Annie and Mitchell exchange a worried glance before dashing back over. They find George covering the receiver of an old phone, fixing Mitchell with an important look. "I've only been shouting for a _half an hour_."

"Jesus, Georgie, I thought you'd been killed."

George narrows his eyes. "You thought I'd? No, no – _don't_ call me that."

Mitchell's wide eyes dart to the phone then back to George. "Well who is it?"

"What if it's the police?" Annie gasps.

"It's – _what_?" George snaps. "Why, what've you done? Never mind. Don't answer that. I _don't_ want to know. It's some woman who seems to think I'm your secretary." George holds the phone out to Mitchell and he hesitantly takes it.

"H-Hello?"

"Johnny? It's Penny. Who was that who answered?"

Mitchell's face splits into a grin. "It's _Penny_," he crows to Annie who flaps her hands, motioning for him to tone down his excitement. "It… it was George," Mitchell says, comically calm.

"Is he English?"

"Yes, but don't hold it against him."

Penny chuckles on the other line. "Listen, I'll be bringing Sean by around four then, yeah?"

"S-Sean? Yes, of course."

"Oh, how old is he?" Annie hisses at him and Mitchell fiercely waves her off before asking the same question in a much calmer voice.

"He's still _two_ – aren't you acting the maggot?" Penny replies. "Anyway, Fergie reckons we ought to get to the match at least an hour early, if not two, so sorry for springing this on you."

Mitchell chuckles. "You know I don't mind."

Penny goes quiet for a moment. "How's Annie?"

"Annie? Annie's great." He turns his ridiculous grin to her, making her hunch a little under the wonderful weight of his affection.

"Good. I saw that that prat Owen was saying stupid shite on Facebook. She should just block him."

"Yeah…" Mitchell furrows his brows. "Or _I_ could just block him. Permanently."

"I'd help if you go that route!"

George sets three plates on the table, each containing a burned sausage, tomato slices, and buttered toast.

"How's Felix?"

"Knackered. He was on the night shift but that's the last of it. We'll have to go out to celebrate."

"And call another sitter?" Mitchell replies, mock-offended.

"Sure, your mam makes the best pandy. I'll seeya at four then."

Mitchell chuckles. "Seeya." He hangs up and fixes Annie with a proud expression. "Felix and Penny are going to a match and are dropping Sean off at four."

Annie grins. "I can't believe this."

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around her. "Neither can I!"

George audibly sighs as he sits down. "Whatever is so wonderful about a snotty, crying, fat toddler coming over, I'll never know. And come to think of it, you two are acting _very_ needy, and to be honest, the PDA is getting on my nerves."

"Aww," Annie teases as she pulls away from Mitchell to sit down. "Georgie's just jealous that he doesn't have a lass."

"A _lass_?" George asks with an incredulous squeak. "Johnny do you hear what you've done to her?"

Mitchell just shrugs as he takes a bite of toast. Annie nearly shoves the entire sausage into her mouth, making George stare in shock. "This is _really_ good," she enthuses. "Like, really good. You have no idea how long it's been since I ate."

"You… you just put a whole sausage in your mouth…" George squeaks then pinches his eyes shut. "God, I don't even _want_ to know the ramifications of that."

Annie snorts and shoots a glance to Mitchell, who is the picture of innocence, somehow missing the reference. "What?" he asks, making Annie snort again and almost choke.

"Please don't die, Annie," George says. "That would really ruin my summer."

"I won't George," she says around her mouthful. "_Trust_ me."

"Thanks for fixing all this," Mitchell says to George. "You're incredible."

George cocks his head, blinking at him seriously. "Why… thank you, Johnny. That's what I like to hear."

"Like, _really_ good," Annie continues, shoving bread in her mouth, making Mitchell laugh.

Once they've finished eating and Annie has finished trying to rub the tomato stains out of her dress in the bathroom, Mitchell slips inside and quietly shuts the door. For a moment they just gaze at each other in wonder before he whispers, "This is too good to be true. Everyone's together, and happy, and… and living. _You_," he says with a grin. "You're _alive_. And we're _human_."

Annie tosses away the toilet paper she was using to clean her dress and smiles at him. "Are you afraid to trust it?"

"A little."

"I am, too. But it's like George said – like we took all the good from our alternate lives and meshed it together into one beautiful one."

He smiles wistfully before crossing over to her, running his knuckles along her bare forearm beneath her sweater cuff. "George was just complaining that he'll have to give up his room for your sister when she comes to visit."

"My…?" Annie blinks at him before staring at her reflection in the mirror.

"I can't wait to meet her."

Annie smiles. "It's been so long… so _very_ long."

"She's coming with your mam to meet my parents." He hugs her from behind, nuzzling into her hair. "Guess we're pretty serious."

"Guess so." She arches a brow, studying their reflections, delighting in the simple fact that he has one.

"Did you like my gran's ring?" he murmurs against her.

Annie smiles. "That is from the 1800s? Of _course_ I like it. Maybe it's haunted. _Wait_ –" Her brows suddenly knit together. "Are you saying…?"

She pivots to look up at him and has just enough time to catch his agreeing smile before he kisses her, his hands sliding up the sides of her ribcage. Any words on the tip of her tongue are thrown out as it searches for his, and her hands fall to his backside. When his fingers press into her flesh at her touch, she suddenly wishes night would come all the sooner.

They're going to have to breathe soon but for the moment she pretends they don't as she presses him against the wall with a jolt she didn't intend.

"_Oh God_," they hear George whine, sounding like a dog in the other room. "I am seriously moving out!"

They break off their kiss with a panted laugh, struggling for air.

"Help me, Georgie," Mitchell calls, slipping his fingers into her hands and locking eyes with her. "She's trying to have her way with me!"

Annie fixes him with a wicked grin. Moments later, the TV is blasting as George cranks up the volume to drown them out, making Annie laugh. "He's never going to be called George again, is he?"

"No," Mitchell agrees with a chuckle. He kisses her then murmurs "I want to show you something," against her lips.

"All right." She kisses him one more time before pulling away.

Annie follows Mitchell out of the bathroom and down the hall, past the guest bedroom where George is watching _The Real Hustle_ while typing away at his paper and jeering at the TV.

They slip out of the house just in time to see a truck passing by, being driven by a waving old woman who looks suspiciously like Ms. Hannigan. Mitchell waves back, and the painted letters on the side read _Hannigan's Creamery_. A white head is riding shotgun and Mitchell furrows his brow. "Is that…?"

"Dr. Collins," Annie finishes. The two exchange a baffled, amused look then laugh. "Well, what do you know? This is like an Easter egg hunt."

He chuckles as he guides her over to the alder tree that once sheltered his dead sisters but now stands tall and strong, decorated with fairy lights. Though they aren't lit, their crystalline bulbs still twinkle in the sunlight. She left her Wellies in the house and the grass feels so wonderfully cold and tickling against her bare feet that she wonders how she could have ever worn shoes.

Annie fixes him with a curious expression as he sets up a speaker and turns on an mp3 player. An old brass recording sounds in a familiar tune for a few seconds before it triggers a distant memory and makes her clap her hands to her mouth with a gasp.

He crosses over to her with a smile, slipping his hands into hers as the tune of "If You Were the Only Girl (In the World)" floats to them on the summer breeze.

Mitchell guides one of her hands to his shoulder then places one of his on her waist, gently guiding her into a half waltz. Annie laughs, because she has never danced like this before, but he certainly has, and the gentle tug of his right hand the pressure on her hip are enough to guide her.

As Rudy Vallee's voice joins the instruments, Mitchell bumps his nose against hers encouragingly. Annie moves with him, smiling even as her eyes are filling with tears.

"_A garden of Eden just made for two  
With nothing to mar our joy_," Mitchell sings softly, the tip of his Wellies gently bumping against her bare toes.

"_I would say such wonderful things to you,"_ he continues, and Annie joins in for the rest.

"_There would be such wonderful things to do_  
_If you were the only girl in the world  
and I were the only boy."_

He twirls her as the tune fades, then pulls her into a swaying hug as the song repeats. Annie laughs, tears escaping as she cups his face.

"I can't believe it," she says. "I've finally brought my soldier home."

Mitchell smiles at her, his eyes both weighted with the ages and as light as springtime. "Annie," he whispers. "We both know you're the real soldier."

She smiles wistfully up at him and he kisses her.

**The end.**

* * *

_**As always, please share your thoughts!  
**_

_**While I am interested in writing a sequel, all I have so far is a handful of steamy scenes in my imagination. Ha! **_

_**The framework I created for this story has inspired a series of original novels that I am currently hard at work on - one of which could utilize a fair portion of **_**Annie's Soldier**_**, because I rather like the twist of a modern girl observing history. I'm tired of being rejected by literary agents, and the combined support for my story **_**Brothers**_** and for this one, which is largely original material, has helped me reach the decision to try to make it on my own. **_

_**So to everyone who has ever supported me: THANK YOU. **_

_**I'm not sure how best to let any readers here know when my first book is out, but I will be sure to update my profile with the info and if you're interested, send me a PM and I'll let you know when the time comes! I know some of us will stay in touch through the Irish Identity course. :)  
**_

**_In the meantime, my wonderful sister has banned me from writing fanfiction until the books are done. But I miss my dwarves and ghosts... so if I do wind up posting between now and completing the books, don't tell her! ;)_**


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